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Chapter Text

If looks could kill, Arya would have died long before their carriage eventually halted in the royal courtyard. Her lady mother had commenced looking daggers at her ever since the capital had come into their view. Though, if anyone in that fancy wheeled casket had the right to scowl, it was well her, and not Catelyn Tully. After all, Arya was the one that had been dragged from her home, to live henceforth in the one place she didn’t want to see from the inside: the bloody Red Keep. Quite literally bloody, given its history.

Arya hated all of it. Its walls of stone in the ugliest pale red, its excessively ornated arches, roof ridges and towers, making it stand overfraught and arrogant against the sky. The while right underneath, below Aegon’s Hill, people lived and died in their own faeces, in a shithole called Flea Bottom. Wherefore the kings and queens of old days had filled their castle with fragrant gardens and orchards, so their families and all their pompous sycophants wouldn’t need to wrinkle their noses at the stench creeping up their walls. Well, they still should…

The moment Arya stepped from the carriage, which had smelled of home and her mother’s subtle perfume, she immediately noticed the slight malodour in the air. Obviously, cultivating lemon trees and lavender, whilst drenching everyone in obtrusive fragrances, wasn’t enough to fully banish the Flea Bottom odour. But moons and years at the royal palace had probably made all their noses conk out long ago anyway. Or how else could one stand to live in such overwhelming essences?

As her sister now apparently did, Arya realised, when Sansa’s unexpected tight embrace took her breath away. Though, admittedly it was hard to tell whether that was solely because of her sister’s southern perfume or her rather unforeseen compliment then. “Good gods, what’ve you done with my scrawny tomboy sister?” Sansa chirped cheerful, “Just look at you, you look absolutely stunning.” Before it then dawned on Arya that she probably just complimented herself, on the silken grey dress she had sent her to Winterfell; just in time afore her departure. Of course.

“Stunning, indeed.” their father agreed, enclosing Arya in his arms afterwards. To kiss her forehead, like he had used to do back home, before he and Sansa had gone to live in the south. Hells, she had missed him. Feeling his arms around her, shielding her from any harm and most of all her mother’s wrath. How wonderful to find herself surrounded by his scent again. Even after so many moon’s turns in the capital, her lord father still smelled of the north – of forests and soil, iron, leather and smoke. Then maybe there was still hope for her too? “The way you look, I wonder what’s there even left to be turned into a proper lady?”
“A lot, Ned.” Lady Catelyn reprimanded straightaway, “She hasn’t changed a bit, rest assured.” The proud riverlander undoubtedly feared, her husband’s soft spot for their younger daughter could once again spoil her attempt to turn Arya into a submissive little dressing doll such as Sansa.

Arya had to clench her fists to suppress her outraged huff at that. She had just gotten her father back, why did she have to ruin even such a moment? Yet, thankfully Sansa intervened promptly, before things could escalate again, offering Arya to direct her to her chamber. Which naturally meant listening to more of her over-exited chatter, about how marvellous life at court were. But as it was the first opportunity to get away from their mother in over a moon’s turn, Arya took it nonetheless, anything was better than her constant haranguing. So, she urged her sister to lead the way, afore that hawk of a mother noticed she was gone again.

Obliging happily, Sansa tucked her arm into Arya’s and babbled away. How she admired the queen, the princess and some Tyrell woman for their exquisite tastes in fashion and gracefulness. How quickly she and said Tyrell had become the best of friends, and how that had made poor Jeyne Poole go green with envy, for she would now spend all her days with that Margaery woman. And how rumours since were that the crown prince soon would ask for either’s hand in marriage. “Of course, you mustn’t spread such gossip, that would be entirely improper. But can you imagine, me becoming queen?” Sansa whispered delighted. Hadn’t that been the plan all along? “And you won’t believe how handsome he is… I bet, even you’ll swoon when you meet him tonight.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, darling sister, how innocent you still are… but just you wait, there’s a huge ‘told you so’ in the offing for you.” Sansa teased chuckling. Definitively, only it would be her saying so, Arya rolled her eyes behind her sister’s back.

Only when their father’s guardsmen delivered Arya’s three trunks to her room, Sansa finally decided to retreat to her own to give her sister some time to recover from the journey; leaving Arya actually exhausted behind. Mentally. How could Sansa even memorise all these names and titles, rules and shit? Leant against her closed chamber door, Arya took a deep breath and rushed to one of the chests.

She luckily had managed to outsmart her lady mother. Prior their departure, Arya had hid some of Bran’s shirts and trousers as well as Needle under a false bottom in one of her trunks. Which of course had been discovered during Lady Stark’s careful inspection of the luggage. Catelyn Tully had fumed and Arya had ranted and even pleaded, but ultimately had lost their argument. However, what her lady mother hadn’t figured out, was that it all had been a red herring. Hidden in Jon’s old room had stood an identical chest, packed with some layers of summer dresses atop and Arya’s little hoard right underneath – trousers and shirts, a jerkin and a doublet, a hooded cloak and two pairs of boots, Jon’s old chainmail and padded jack, a leather belt and some smaller pieces of armour, as well as her practice sword and a dagger. And during Lady Stark’s tirade, Robb had dutifully taken Needle into safekeeping, yet had added it swiftly to the rest of Arya’s hidden treasures. Before he and Theon then had switched the two trunks, whilst Rickon once again had beseeched their mother to take him along south as well.

Thus, all Arya had to do now, was to hide it all atop her bed’s canopy and rearrange her other luggage, so her mother wouldn’t notice, one of the trunks was suddenly half empty. Afterwards, Arya got out of her dress and underskirt and hid them both under neatly packed fresh gowns. No need to leave Catelyn Tully any clues laying around in the open. Only the pair of uncomfortable shoes, her lady mother had forced her to put on in the morrow, Arya intended to get rid of for good. Changing quickly into a pair of trousers and a linen shirt, as well as her sparring boots, she huffed determined. Time to explore this keep. She needed to know her ways around here, find potential escape routes and a safer stash for her precious belongings. Before any maids could get ideas of brushing off her chamber.

Deeming the coast clear then, Arya slipped out of her chamber and swiftly down the stairs and out into the gravelled yard. Stepping through an archway into a cloister that surrounded yet another keep yard, she headed into the exact opposite direction as the arcade, through which Sansa and she had come to the Tower of the Hand earlier. She stopped only once in her path, to throw her nasty lady shoes from a window and smirk satisfied, seeing them disappear in some evergreen bushes. After that, Arya found the stables, the smithy and armoury within no time. Pity, they’d look here first. She climbed in and out of windows, into trees and onto walls, to discover the actually interesting parts of the Red Keep.

After finding the kitchens by literally following her nose, Arya met her first target. A slender red tabby, whom she followed through a window into a nearby storage room. Where they interrupted an old tomcat’s afternoon nap on a heap of flour sacks. He was a particularly fierce one and promptly lashed out at both of them. A more suitable opponent, Arya decided and chased the feisty black tom then to the wine cellars. Where he soon after eluded her through a crack in an old wooden door – undoubtedly certain, he were rid of his pursuer now. He was wrong, though. “Run, kitty cat, for I’m coming for you.” Arya taunted and picked the lock with a pair of old nails, she had snatched at the storage room.

The tomcat however, turned out an indeed inveterate foe. Upon opening the door, she found him waiting right behind at the top of a downward staircase. Swinging his tail and hissing at her, he seemed to outright challenge her to try catch him again. And Arya accepted, yet once more he escaped and led her further down into the keep's vaults.

Arya was so focussed on finally outwitting and catching him, she at first didn’t even notice, she had stumbled across the castle’s most astonishing treasures. The dragon skulls. The first ones she passed were so small, she mistook them for bones of hounds and wolves. Until she stepped around a corner into a long, scarcely lit vault. The dim light of the three torches hanging there at the walls hardly even reached the high-arched ceiling. And at the other end of the room, a pair of giant empty eye sockets glared at her. Watching her every step, as she drew closer.

“The Black Dread.” Arya thought aloud, when she lastly stood in front of the enormous skull. Admiring its onyx-like surface, she couldn’t help touch its jaw. For it wasn’t like any other animal remains she had seen before – more armour than bone. Because of the iron. But what amazed her the most, was that it didn’t feel cold to her touch. As though it still harboured some of the blazing heat it once was. Dragons were fire come alive, her father had used to tell her. This whole room felt warmer than the ones she had passed before, Arya realised now. Strange.

The old tomcat, however, seemed to find her sudden absentness rather insulting and decided to remind her, the two of them still had a score to settle. He stroke unabashed past her legs and leapt onto the dragon’s jawline, to wield his claws at her. Yet, that was his mistake. Arya grabbed him so swift, placing a quick kiss onto his head and let go of the tom again, before the animal even got round to fight her off. Leaving him nothing else to do, but to flee outraged into the massive skull. “No need to sulk now, old tom. You were most definitively one of my toughest adversaries and it’s a real pleasure to make your acquaintance… and you’re probably the only southerner worth meeting in this keep.” Arya tried to placate the vexed cat. “Though, before the two of us can become the best of friends here, you, my dauntless warrior, will need a befitting name to go by.” she continued grinning, “And happens, I know just the perfect one for you, you little black dread—”
When out of the blue an answer resounded from the dragon’s pitch-dark gullet, “Funny, I’d thought exactly the same.”

Chapter Text

Seven hells! Arya startled at the deep voice coming from behind the skull, where a tall man now emerged from the shadows. “What the fuck?” she blurted and reached for Needle, but it wasn’t there. Damn. She stupidly had left it in her chamber, out of fear she might run into her lady mother. “You think it funny, hiding here and scaring people passing by?” she scolded, hoping he wouldn’t see, she prepared to snatch his dirk from his belt.
Whereas he only chuckled and stepped closer, “That would sound fun, if there were actually any passers-by down here.” he cleared his throat, “No, I meant, we chose the same name for him, my lady.” He nodded at the tomcat now purring around his legs.
“My lady?” Arya narrowed her eyes, knowing she looked all but ladylike. “You know who I am?”
“Aye, Lady Arya, and I’m here to escort you out of these vaults—” he bowed to her.
“Yeah? And how exactly did you know where to find me?” she took a step to the right, to reach his dirk quicker.
“Well, after your absence was discovered and nobody could retrieve you, your father suggested, you might have gone trying to find these bones… So here I am.” he bowed once more. Was he mocking her?

Something about this fellow put Arya on edge like no man before. Because he was lying, she concluded as she studied him. He wore no coat of arms, nor a Stark guard attire or anything else that associated him with her house. And if her father really had tasked him to find her, he should have come forward the moment she stepped around the corner. Yet, he had silently watched her from the shadows. “Thank you, but there’s no need for that.” she snapped, “I know the way.”
Yet, he only arched his brow at her and folded his arms in front of his chest, trying to hide his growing smirk, “No offence, my lady. But you look, um—”
“I look what?” she demanded angry.
“Well, lost.”
“Well,” she parroted him, “I’m not.” folding her arms, too.
“Perfect, then maybe my lady could lead the way?” he now unmistakably mocked her.

“My lady could.” Arya huffed and stomped to a door, she had passed on her way towards the gigantic skull.
“My lady, that’s not the way out.” he called after her at once.
Making her whip around and declare challenging, “Who said anything about the way out? I’m in no hurry to hear my mother’s dressing-down and far from done exploring.”
“But, Lady Arya, what if they send someone else down here and find us both gone? What should they think?” he came after her then.
“I agree, you should definitively stay here. Since, if anything happens to me and they find you gone from your post, it wouldn’t look good. For you.” Arya snorted and opened the door. Only, he slammed it promptly shut again. What the hells? “How dare you?” she snarled outraged, scowling at him.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I can’t let you descend any further. Your family’s worried sick and I’m pretty sure, you’re supposed to get dressed for the festivities soon.” he claimed, blocking the door with his arm now. Liar.
“No, they’re not. My father knows, I can handle myself.”
“But I don’t serve your father, Lady Arya.” he retorted with an increasing seriousness in his voice. Careful now…
“And who do you serve then?”
“The crown prince.” he growled, scowling back at her now.
Until she snorted, “Then you’ve nothing to worry. Your master’s too busy choosing his bride tonight, he wouldn’t even know I was there, if I actually attended.”
At which he blinked baffled, “On that matter you evidently know more than I do.” he suddenly sounded as if she had insulted him, “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick at calling the crown prince an idiot, my lady.”

“Well, forgive me, but he must be one. He tasked you to get me, and you completely suck at it. And I don’t mean because I refuse to follow you out here.” she huffed annoyed, “If I was anything like my sister, you would’ve scared me to death with all your lurking in the shadows like a thief.”
Which he again found amusing, “I didn’t mean to frighten you—” he chuckled.
“You didn’t!” she hissed, “I said you would’ve, if I was like my sister.”
“Of course, Lady Arya, forgive me for almost scaring you.” he taunted laughing. Causing her to clench her fists, tempted to hit him for being such an arse.

“I didn’t mean to hide in the shadows, believe me. I just wasn’t quite sure, you were who I was looking for—”
“Oh, come on… even you must’ve heard, the bad-mannered Arya Stark’s brought to court, to be tamed and chained.”
“Well, hearing something and seeing it for oneself is two different things entirely, my lady.” he taunted grinning.
“Well, apologies, for my outrageous appearance.” she mocked. Only for some odd reason, Arya felt slightly embarrassed now and fiddled with her messy braid.
“No need to apologise.” he chuckled appeasing, “I just wonder, how am I to explain the state you’re in… you know, without losing my head, once I return you to your lord father and lady mother?”
“No need to fear for your head. They’re well aware, how I look when I chase cats.” Arya snorted somewhat amused, though unwilling to explain her odd-striking habit any further – before she knew whether he could be trusted.

“So, it wasn’t this Balerion that lured you here?” he nodded chuckling at the massive dragon remains behind them.
“Nope.” she told him smirking.
“Well, in that case, your lady mother should count herself lucky. If you’d chased some of the other cats here, we’d be searching Flea Bottom for you all night.” he snorted amused. What?
“There’s a passage to Flea Bottom down here?” Arya questioned instantly excited.
“No, no, my lady!” he claimed, realising his mistake.
“Bloody amazing.” Maybe coming here wasn’t so bad after all?
“No, not bloody amazing.” he beseeched her then, “My lady, your mother’s waiting. So, please, let me escort you to the Tower of the Hand now.”

“Out of question.” Arya told him cocky.
“Why?” he inquired almost desperate.
And she fully enjoyed it, “I don’t follow strangers around in dark vaults.” she proclaimed, struggling to hide her amused grin.
“But how else are we to resolve our dilemma here, then?” he questioned, sounding actually desperate now, “When I’m expected to take you back to your lord father and lady mother, like now? And given your sire’s station, I don’t see a chance for you to skip tonight’s feast anyway—”
“Sure, there is… all I need to do, is walk through this door.”
“And all I need to do, is lock you up in here and get your lord father.” he nodded at the set of keys hanging next to the door. As if that would impress her?

But she had a better idea, something more fun, “A race, then.”
“What?” he blurted baffled.
“Let’s see, whose way out here’s faster.” Arya suggested exited.
“Mine.” he growled stubborn, “I lived here my entire life, I think I’d know, my lady.”
But her mind was already set, “I’ll prove you wrong.” she challenged, “Come on, you wouldn’t’ve to explain anything about my state then…” And for a moment he studied her in silence, clearly unsure what to make of her suggestion.
Before he reluctantly complied, “But I want your word, you return straightaway to the Hand’s Tower—”
“I swear.”
“No detours, and no more exploring today—” he clearly feared, she meant to outwit him somehow.
“Promised.” she growled impatient. Today.
“And you won’t get lost on the way?” he still wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Piece of cake, I never do.” And certainly not when there was a win at stake.

“Fine.” he seemed to get an idea himself now and smirked at her knowingly, “But if I win, you’ll attend the feast tonight, showing up in time, looking all proper and ladylike. And you'll stay as long as the crown prince does—”
“Boring.” she rolled her eyes.
“Do you accept?” he challenged unimpressed.
“But if I win, you personally show me that passageway to Flea Bottom.”
“Deal.” he laughed, putting out his hand and she shook it. “Alright then, I give you a head start… off you go!” he teased.
“Do I look like I need one?” she huffed at the suggestion.
“You’ll regret it.” he winked at her and ran. Cheeky bastard.

Arya turned on her heels and ran back around the corner, to where she had entered the vault. All the way to the door, where she had picked the lock. And out through the storage room window, where she had met Balerion. She sped over the kitchen yard, back to the royal stables and to the yard outside the Tower of the Hand. Where she ran right into Desmond’s arms, “You alright?” her father’s guardsman questioned worried.
“I’m fine.” she panted, freeing herself from his grip to turn around, certain she had beaten that stupid idiot. Only she hadn’t, for he leant smug in a door frame across the yard.
“Enjoy the feast, my lady!” he guffawed, when her eyes found his. He bowed to her once more and disappeared swiftly through the door, leaving Arya and the Stark man staring baffled at the now empty door frame.

Chapter Text

Sansa gasped, seeing Arya all dirty and dishevelled, and even their father seemed taken aback by the sorry state she had returned in. Whilst Lady Catelyn merely scoffed at her husband, “This’s precisely what I had to deal with this past half year.” Before she then turned to her defiant daughter, threatening to burn her men’s clothes in the hearth as soon as Arya stepped out of them. But thankfully her father wouldn’t have it, and even Sansa argued that without her trousers, Arya would only ruin her delicate dresses – which were a far bigger risk for public embarrassments.
“Exactly.” Arya couldn’t help growling, although that naturally infuriated Catelyn Tully even more.

However, their lady mother ran soon out of time in her chiding, or else Arya wouldn’t have made it on schedule to Lord Renly’s nameday celebrations. Which would have posed indeed an embarrassment. “Just don’t you think this’s over yet, young lady.” Lady Stark snarled upon leaving Arya’s chamber, so she could bathe and slip into her plain grey-blue velvet dress. Whereas Sansa beseeched her to behave at the feast – since that were the easiest way to appease their mother. As though she wouldn’t know that! Catelyn Tully undoubtedly would have given Arya to the silent sisters years ago, if she hadn’t known, she could behave according her degree. At least somewhat, if she felt like it. But unfortunately for her lady mother, Arya almost never did. Acting like a lady was just… Stupid. Pointless. Irritating. Boring. Simply useless nonsense.

And she expected no less from the festivities this night. Just utter boredom to death. However, she eventually came to conclude, absolute boredom would have been the lesser evil. At first, things had gone fine. As far as fine goes, when being dragged along behind by one’s ambitious mother.

Who was mad like hells, but showered everyone, and most of all Arya, with never-fading smiles. That was when Catelyn Tully was the most dangerous. For Arya could hardly tell then, whether her mother would still be pissed at her by the end of the day, or if she somehow had managed to placate her.

Hence, when Sansa suggested to introduce Arya to the other ladies-in-waiting, Lady Catelyn naturally called it an excellent idea. But did she really mean it? Arya could only guess and decided to follow her sister around like a pup; knowing she would tell her right away, if she did something wrong. And if so, there was at least a chance that their mother wouldn’t hear of it.

And so, Arya met the Lady Margaery Tyrell then herself and regretted it immediately. As she realised, there actually were people that paraded a false smile even better than her lady mother and sister.

The fabulous Rose of Highgarden seemed to feel an insatiable urge to be at the centre of everyone’s attention. At all times. And the courtiers all too willingly obliged, getting drawn to the woman like moths to the flame. Maybe these fools liked to get burned? Arya wondered, as she failed to understand the allure of this busy southerner. Her face hurt after not even half an hour in the Tyrell’s company, from constantly smiling at everything Sansa and her new best friend said or did. Was this what her life would be like now?

All these ladies talked and cared about seemed somehow related to matrimony. Ladies in waiting, indeed. Arya suddenly understood the term. All these women did was wait. For a man to wed, to dig their claws in – like vultures. How could Sansa stand all this? She was supposed to be a wolf too… didn’t she know, vultures only get what the wolves leave behind? Didn’t she know, she was so much more than these shallow ninnies?

Arya had never felt more out of place than in that moment amongst these females – which naturally made her miss her brothers and friends at home all the more. And Lady Margaery was fully aware of it. “Pray, Sansa, is this really your supposed wild baby sister? She seems the shiest thing in the realm, even quieter than our beloved princess.” the woman soon teased. Mocked.

Arya naturally couldn’t speak for the princess, but she had absolutely nothing in common with any of these women. Even if she had wanted, she wouldn’t have known what to speak of with them. All she could do, was thank them for compliments she received and flatter them back, repeating herself about their lovely hair or gowns or skin. Besides agreeing on things they said, every time Sansa did so. Amongst her sister and her fancy new friends, Arya walked around on eggshells. All in hope, it would spare her yet another round of haranguing in the morning.

Even though, it made her feel as if she were dying from the inside – Arya could have sworn, she felt her brain shrinking and falling apart then. So, she lastly was even grateful when they returned to their lord father and lady mother, to take their seats for the banquet. At least, they knew to use their brains… even if she mostly didn’t like the outcome. “Oh, Mother, Arya was wonderful with the other ladies.” Sansa burst out overjoyed, evidently proud of herself for keeping her in check for once, “She was so sweet, they absolutely adore her.”
“Thanks, but your friends are indeed one of a kind. I love them already.” Arya complimented back, hoping their lady mother didn’t expect her to actually mean it.

But she never got the chance to decipher Lady Catelyn’s thoughts, since Lady Margaery approached once again. Declaring, she were delighted to find their two houses seated at the same table that night; only a few feet from the dais of the royal family. Before she promptly introduced her brother Loras, the famous Knight of Flowers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Arya, and a true honour to keep you company at the table tonight.” he bowed to Arya, after greeting her mother and father.

She had heard of the charming knight and his achievements in tournaments, as well as of his more than close friendship with the Lord of Storm’s End, thanks to Theon’s big mouth. But at least then he wouldn’t want to talk of marriage all night, Arya tried to calm herself upon seeing his sister’s satisfied smirk – who apparently deemed them two a perfect match. Or what else had that one in mind?

Nevertheless, Arya soon managed to relax a bit. Having clearly more in common with the Knight of Flowers than with his sister, allowed her to engage far easier in conversation with him. They chatted about famous heroes and tourneys, as well as his victory in the past tournament and her sparring sessions with her brothers. They even discussed how to best deal with the bruises afterwards. Thus, neither of them paid much attention to the knowing looks, which their sisters exchanged beside them. Fools! As though there were anything to giggle about?

Arya felt simply relieved, she no longer needed to pretend that she had no brain. But also, Sansa’s pleased looks proved, she hadn’t humiliated anyone so far – which meant there was a real chance, her lady mother might forgive her her little excursion before the morrow.

And Ser Loras even told Arya about the renowned blacksmith, who had crafted his armour and sword. “Master Mott’s the best armourer in the Seven Kingdoms.” he claimed, and even suggested to take her to the man’s shop on the Street of Steel someday, “So, you can see for yourself.” A notion, Arya liked so much, she almost hadn’t noticed how the knight suddenly frowned, once the royal family entered the Great Hall. Where Ser Loras apparently didn’t find what he was looking for then. Causing him to exchange a glance with his no less puzzled sister.
“What’s wrong?” Arya inquired in a hushed tone, seeing the same confusion on her sister’s face and everyone else’s.
“Prince Gendry’s missing.” Sansa explained next to her.
“And so is his uncle.” Ser Loras added. Huh! Fine hosts, Arya almost snorted.

“Apologies, my lords and ladies,” the king announced a moment later from the dais, “my brother alas won’t make it to his own banquet tonight. It seems, he and the crown prince still tarry at the harbour. It has something to do with a nameday gift, is all I know… So, to my brother, the damn fool!” King Robert lifted his goblet, making everyone else reluctantly join in with his toast. “Don’t worry, my ladies, they’ll both be here later. And as I know my son, he’ll be eager to make the wait up to you.” the king placated the still ongoing murmuring in his hall. Before he took his seat, to straightaway dig his teeth into some pheasant.

“This must be a marvellous gift, if it couldn’t wait.” Sansa proclaimed dreamy, “Prince Gendry’s always so thoughtful.” Aye, thoughtfully avoiding the banquet…
“My bet’s rather on a delayed ship.” Ser Loras whispered, so only Arya could hear it.
“Or maybe this marvellous gift and prince went overboard?” Arya suggested grinning. More than likely, if a certain manservant was involved.
“Well, I hope not… for both our sisters’ sake.” the Knight of Flowers chuckled, afore he and Arya then spent the meal discussing horse-riding and jousting exercises.

Until eventually the king called for the dancing to start. And Prince Joffrey complacently declared, with his brother and uncle still absent, the duty of leading tonight’s dancing would hence fall to him. Stepping from the dais then, he directly approached Sansa to ask her for the first dance. Which caused Arya inevitably to side-glance at Lady Margaery. But to her surprise, kept the Tyrell a perfect straight face and even leant over to her, whispering, “They’re a perfect match, don’t you think?” Err, nope! Arya’s mind objected fervently, the while she tried to play the silly goose, “I’m afraid, I’m of no use when it comes to judging these things. But I’m sure you’re right, my lady.” Though, upon glancing back at Sansa and the prince, she was already beyond certain, Her sister deserved better.

Sansa was naturally a sight to behold as usual, moving gracefully around as if she weighed no more than a feather. And although the prince turned out an imposing dancer himself, his arrogance sept as obtrusively off of him as those awful southern perfumes. Wherefore Arya quickly concluded, If that marvellous brother was as much a prick as this one… nice prospects, sister.

Prince Tommen on the other hand appeared a lot more agreeable – despite his choice of a dancing partner, as he asked Lady Margaery to dance. Which should bring things home to the other ladies. But at only fourteen, the young prince could neither match his brother’s dancing skills nor his confidence at it. Which Arya naturally deemed far more relatable and winsome. And it certainly didn’t keep Margaery from openly competing with Sansa.

Before then more and more courtiers joined in, and Ser Loras unsurprisingly asked Arya, if she would like to dance. Yet, he got the hint, when she hesitated and placated immediately, “Please, don’t feel forced, my lady. I’m perfectly fine, just conversing here with you.”
“Unfortunately, I lack my sister’s talent in the womanly arts and I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, good ser.” Arya declined grateful, “But I thank you for asking.” Going by his chuckle at that, the Knight of Flowers didn’t seem too disappointed and rather relieved himself.

The two of them remained seated at the table for a little while longer, afore Ser Loras invited her to a stroll in the gardens. However, Arya only accepted after he asked her lord father and lady mother’s permission. Lady Catelyn called it a wonderful idea and looked of a sudden genuinely pleased with her daughter. Only Lord Stark had a slightly disapproving look on his face, but for once Arya agreed with her mother. Anything was better than courtly dancing.

Especially since they weren’t the only ones that fled from the Great Hall. Arya soon found herself in the prestigious company of several friends of Ser Loras. The young nobles showed her around in the gardens, which were beautifully illuminated by torches along the paths and hanging candles in the trees. And the while jugglers, fire-breathers and other travelling artists showcased their skillsets, servants provided all kind of pastries, fruits and beverages. Way better than bloody dancing.

In Arya’s opinion this could have gone on all night – watching the artists and discussing renowned fighters and significant battles with these young knights on the side. She wasn’t the only woman in their round, but certainly the one enjoying herself the most then. Thus, when her lord father and lady mother eventually came across them on their own stroll through the palace gardens, her father told her smiling, “I’m glad to see you so happy now, child.” Whereas Lady Catelyn unsurprisingly remarked, she were absolutely delighted, how well Arya and the Knight of Flowers got along. Since that of course was the utmost important…

Afore about half an hour later, Arya’s mood worsened for good. She didn’t notice the small group of four that approached behind her, until Sansa suddenly tucked her arm into hers, “Sister, may I introduce you to Prince Gendry?” So, the damn fools finally made it? Arya rolled her eyes while Sansa turned her around, only to nearly choke on her own breath at the sight of the man in question then. FUCK.
“Lady Arya, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” he greeted formally smiling and bowed to her. As if nothing had happened.
Trying to regain her composure, Arya almost stammered in her reply, “Your Grace.” and curtsied just a moment too long, unsure what else to say or do besides.
“I bid you welcome to court, my lady, and hope you’ll find life here to your liking.” he kept his straight reserved face. Whereas Arya struggled not to stare at him, in her attempt to read his mind. Why hadn’t he said anything?
“Thank you, Your Grace.” she replied quietly, before Sansa stepped in to introduce her to Lord Renly as well – who oddly looked more alike him than the two younger princes.

But Arya’s relief didn’t last long. While the two men went on to greet the rest of the group, she found herself cornered in between her sister and Lady Margaery. Well, bloody great. She still tried to figure out what had just happened, and most of all the Why? behind this unforeseen revelation. Had he wanted to get back at her? For thinking him a manservant? For being rude? Or what game was he playing?

And the two women took fully advantage of her puzzled state. “So, what do you think of my brother?” the Tyrell asked to her right.
As Sansa whispered self-satisfied to her left, “Told you so, little sister.” Vultures, truly. Both of them. All Arya wanted to do then was to yell and hit someone. Everyone. But particularly that stupid prince, and the two idiots to her sides. What did she do to deserve this? Arya could scarcely restrain herself from lashing out. She had to clench her fists to calm herself enough to muster a fake smile for Lady Margaery and assure, Ser Loras were indeed lovely company.

Apparently precisely what the woman wanted to hear. Since she quickly rushed off again, to shoo the other vultures away from that stupid prince. Leaving Arya to turn glaring to her sister, to let out the huff, she had been holding back until then. “What?” Sansa chuckled innocently, “It’s not my fault, you swooned.”
“I didn’t.” Arya hissed.
“No need to be ashamed, I know exactly how you feel right now. I almost fainted, when I saw him for the first time. He’s just too handsome, isn’t he?” her sister chattered away.
“I’m not ashamed, and he’s not— It’s not that… you’re just wrong!” Arya dug her nails into her palms, feeling her pent-up anger boil up inside of her.

“You know, it’s totally fine to like a man—”
“But I don’t.” Arya growled.
“Your blush says otherwise.” Sansa countered unimpressed.
“I’m not blushing, I’m fuming.”
Only Sansa just wouldn’t stop, “And I know exactly why…”
“No, you don’t!”
“Oh, come on, you’re sixteen. About time for this to happen—”
“Nothing. Happened.” Arya snarled.
“I beg to differ, darling sister.” Sansa smirked and even pinched her cheeks, as though she were a toddler, “You. Like. Him.”
Leaving Arya no choice but to furiously push her hands away, “Fuck off, Sansa!” blowing her sister’s smug smile off of her face.
“Arya!” Sansa reprimanded outraged, “You did so well tonight, and now this? You really are hopeless.”
“Well, what did you expect?” Arya spat, and the two siblings scowled at one another, trying to stare the other one down.

Until of a sudden someone called, “My ladies Stark, aren’t you coming with us?” Causing both sisters’ heads to whip around, to find the crown prince laughing at them. That stupid princeling. His calling drew naturally everyone else’s attention towards them and reminded Sansa promptly of her degree and manners.
“Of course we are, my prince.” she assured all smiling and proper again, despite the light blush that bloomed on her cheeks now.

Arya, however, didn’t manage to calm down so swift, or at all. She didn’t want to. After all, this whole mess was his fault. So why shouldn’t she scowl at him? Just because he was some bloody prince? Nevertheless, she let Sansa drag her along back to the group, whose company she so had enjoyed only a moment ago. But that was over now, seeing how close they all were with him. Getting Arya to decide right then and there, She hated him.

As well as that horrible Tyrell woman, who promptly had to poke her nose in then, “Lady Arya, are you alright? You’re suddenly so quiet again.”
“I’m fine.” Arya could barely hide her fretted undertone, “It’s just…” she searched her mind for a plausible excuse.
But Sansa saved her the time and trouble, “It was a long day for her. After all, she only just arrived.” Her sister undoubtedly feared, in her livid state, Arya could indeed lash out at her friend. Right in front of her beloved stupid prince.
“Of course, silly me.” Lady Margaery purred, “Loras, why don’t you take the Lady Arya to that bench over there, so she can rest a bit?” Damn, that woman was good.

“I’m not actually tired. I just had a fight with my sister, is all.” Arya admitted sullen, taking her seat on the marble bench by a small pond of water lilies a moment later.
“That much was obvious.” the Knight of Flowers chuckled as he joined her there.
“I can sit here alone, good ser. You don’t have to miss out the amusements because of me.”
“My lady, you evidently don’t know my sister very well.” he chuckled once more.
“So, you’re stuck here with me?” Arya shook her head in disbelief.
“And you with me. For tonight, at least.” he smiled at her encouraging, “Though, for my part, I could imagine worse company.”
“Same here.” she sighed, afore biting her lower lip in frustration.

How could Sansa stand this all day long? Arya wondered, causing her eyes to search her sibling. To find her now nicely chatting with the crown prince and the Lady Margaery. Maybe she was a wolf, after all? Arya marvelled at the scene after a while. Seeing how Sansa turned out the only woman, the Tyrell couldn’t scare away from the prince. Her sister seemed to battle that viper, as bold and shrewd as only a wolf could.

Once the two women eventually succeeded, in separating the crown prince from his friends, to go for a walk with the both of them, Arya and the Knight of Flowers could finally re-join the others. But Arya found it rather difficult to rejoice in their company now. And not because she suddenly had to share Ser Loras with Lord Renly. On the contrary, the handsome stormlander proved the perfect addition to the knight’s company. He was charming and attentive, but above all he had an improbable great sense of humour – and he seemed just as eager as the Ser Loras to keep her company.

Arya didn’t mind, they only feigned to compete for her affection. This were perfect, actually, should they continue to court her. While it would buy her time, Lady Catelyn would undoubtedly be over the moon, given their great ancestry and degree.

Nonetheless, Arya felt already tired of the whole charade that life at court apparently was. Ser Loras and Lord Renly were wonderful company, and she certainly would have liked to spend more time with them. But not in this place, where everything and everyone felt fake. Where the artist in front of them, walking bare-footed on glowing embers and glass shards, felt less like a sham than the noble men and women around them.

Who somehow just couldn’t leave her be. As though they all felt some urgent need to poke her. Again and again. Such as that stupid prince, whom out of the blue stood right next to her now. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, Lady Arya,” he smirked down at her, “for I intend to stay all night.”
“Technically, I could've left right at the banquet,” she hissed vexed, “for you weren’t even there.”
“But you didn’t. And now you’re stuck with me, all night…” he chuckled larking, and winked at her again.
“And there you’re wrong.” she snarled scowling, “I had a deal with your manservant, not you, Your Grace. And since he evidently doesn’t exist, our deal doesn’t either. Thus, I can walk off this feast whenever I like—”
Causing him to laugh and challenge smug, “Then why haven’t you, yet? Might it be, you actually like it here?”
However, before she could counter anything, Lady Margaery approached behind him, “My prince, there you are…” Great, the bloody snake again— wait, did he just roll his eyes?

“Lady Margaery,” he turned halfway around to face her as well.
“Oh! The Lady Arya’s here, too? I didn’t foresee that. I thought you were with my brother?” the woman purred. Unbelievable.
“Yes, I was, Lady Margaery…” Arya realised only now that Ser Loras and Lord Renly had gone to see the contortionist, a good thirty feet further down the pebbled path, leaving her alone with the prince. Fine suitors. Yet, this time Arya regained her wits quicker and claimed, “But right now I’m actually looking for my sister. You don’t happen to know where I could find her? For his grace here unfortunately doesn’t.” She tried to sound as innocent as the Tyrell viper had, but obviously failed, going by the perplexed look the woman gave her now.
“Sadly not, darling Arya. Last I’d seen her, she seemed to be heading back to the Great Hall with Ser Lancel, given I saw correctly.” As if!
“Well, in that case, I better get going. My lady, Your Grace.” Arya replied quickly and hurried off, determined to find Sansa. To put a spoke in this viper’s wheel.

Only, she didn’t get far. Prince Joffrey stepped into her way, “So, you’re that infamous wolf-bitch?” Really?
“Indeed, I am, Your Grace.” Arya hissed, scowling up at him unafraid.
“Quite a toothless wolf, it seems.” he snorted, unveiling his wine-soaked breath.
“Says the stag.” she stood her ground, and hit prompt the mark.
“I'm no damn stag,” the smug prick declared overbearing, “I’m a lion.”
“An extinct species in the Seven Kingdoms, I hear.” Arya scoffed unimpressed.
“Are you threatening me now?” he snarled enraged. You bet.
“No, of course not, my prince. I’d never, would I?”
“Want to know what you never will, wolf-cunt? Get a proper fuck. At least not by those two sword-swallowers over there…” the prince spat presumptuous, “You didn’t know, did you?” He evidently assumed, this would shake her world.
“How about, I don’t give a damn?” she shot back, catching him for a moment off-guard.

Before he suddenly sneered, “Of course not. And why should you, when you already set your eyes on a far bigger fish?” He baffled her now in return. What the fuck was the twat talking? “And there he comes, your dashing hero…” he scoffed, glaring at someone behind her. Huh?
“Leave her be!” a deep growl threatened and made Arya whip around. Great, him again. She rolled her eyes, as the crown prince stepped in between them to snarl at his sibling, “You’re drunk, brother.”
“No way?” the younger prince snorted snidely, “I thought, I was just welcoming our court’s latest northern addition—”
“I SAID, LEAVE.” his brother demanded.
“As you wish, brother.” Prince Joffrey mocked and took tottering to his heels.

Whereas the crown prince huffed, before he turned to her, “Lady Arya, I apologise for—”
“I don’t need to be rescued!” she snarled and almost shoved him in her rage, “I was handling myself just fine.” Before she stormed off herself, leaving the puzzled prince and a horrified Sansa behind.
“Arya!” her sister called after her aghast.

Damn fucking fantastic… now she could certainly join the silent sisters, Arya thought, as she fled down some switchback stairs to a small terrace with a wide view over Blackwater Bay. Seeing nobody else there, she decided to remain there, to clear her mind in the cooling breeze of the sea. She would never fit in here, she just couldn’t.

Mere hours after her arrival, Arya was already over and done with the south and its deceiving, scheming people. She just wanted to go home. Fuming with frustration, she hit the lithic balustrade in front of her, when she suddenly heard footsteps on the stairs behind her. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t she ever be left in peace in this keep?

“My lady, are you alright?” a foreign voice addressed her soon after.
“Yes, of course—” Arya snapped over turning around, to find it was a young man with striking blond hair, whom she had seen earlier in the princess’s company. “Forgive me, my lord, it’s just… too much wine, I suppose.” she claimed and turned back to gaze at the sea again, in hope he would get the hint. Only, he didn’t.
“Are you sure, it’s the wine and not Prince Joffrey’s unforgivable behaviour towards you?” he questioned cautiously. Perfect, not just an idiot prince, but a gossipmonger too.
“It needs a little more than that to unsettle me, good ser.” Arya assured, turning back to him, to prove she hadn’t been crying or anything, “I just wanted some time alone, that’s all.”
“Of course, my lady. I didn’t mean to intrude, forgive me.” he bowed to her to leave again.
“Does everyone already know?” Arya asked, shaking her head in disbelief over this place.
“No, I think it’s just us that were around then.” the young man claimed sheepish. Who’d now all busily spread the tale… “You should know, your sister and Prince Gendry worry about you, Lady Arya—”
“So, they sent you?” she rolled her eyes.
“Well, yes…” he admitted hesitant, “But I wanted to introduce myself anyway, I just didn’t have the chance yet.” Another suitor, already? Wow, this place was just one big heap of madness.

“My name’s Edric Dayne—” he went on carefully.
“As in House Dayne of Starfall?” Arya inquired surprised.
“Precisely that, my lady. I’m the Lord of Starfall.” he smiled and stepped beside her to the balustrade. Arya didn’t know what to say then, knowing her father had slain Ser Arthur Dayne during the war. Who must’ve been his uncle…
“I wanted to introduce myself to you, since your brother… well, actually your half-brother—”
“Jon?” He suddenly had her full attention.
“Yes, Jon Snow. He and I are milk brothers.” he stated, baffling her for good, “His mother was my wet-nurse.” What?
“You know Jon’s mother?” Arya asked incredulous.
“Err, I knew her…” he admitted abashed, “I’m afraid, she passed away a few years back. I’m sorry.” Poor Jon.
“What was her name?” Arya inquired, since not even that had their father disclosed to Jon.
“Wylla. And sadly I don’t remember much of her.” the young Dornishman admitted, yet offered quickly, “But what I do recall, I could tell you… if you want?”

Arya hadn’t seen Jon in over half a year now. And in this moment, in this insane place, she missed him more than ever. So, hearing something about him, when he couldn’t be with her, seemed the next best thing – at least a crumb of comfort. Maybe she could send him a raven in the morrow? Arya thought hopeful and told the young nobleman, “Yes, my lord, I’d like that… very much, actually.” She was smiling now, “But, please, call me Arya.”
”Only if you call me Ned, Arya.” he smiled back at her, all up to his eyes. He had a nice smile.

Arya couldn’t say afterwards, how long exactly she had been on that terrace with him. Listening to what he told her about his wet-nurse and Starfall, the place where he and Jon were born. Whilst in return she then told him about Jon and Winterfell and their life in the North, in which he seemed genuinely interested. Hence, it didn’t take long for Arya to conclude that she liked the young lord’s company. A lot, even. Besides the endearing fact that he had turned out no suitor, she found it astonishingly easy to talk and relate to him. Almost like with Jon.

So, when lastly a manservant informed them that everyone would gather in the main garden now for the upcoming fireworks, Arya was nearly disappointed, the festivities came to an end so soon. Despite that she still dreaded to return to the others.

Yet, as though he read her mind, Ned Dayne didn’t escort her back to her sister and the crown prince… and all those vicious creatures. He introduced her to a group of younger nobles instead, who had gathered around the princess and Prince Tommen then.

The tale of her quarrel with Prince Joffrey had naturally long reached their ears by then, and both his younger siblings apologised straightaway for his grave misconduct. Nevertheless, Arya found her time amongst these courtiers quite enjoyable. And not only because Ned never left her side again; until Sansa eventually approached, to remind her it was time to return to their lord father and lady mother in the Great Hall to retire for the night.

It simply needed no genius to notice, these highborns – and particularly the females – flocked to the king’s young daughter for more than her stunning beauty and superior degree. Princess Myrcella indeed seemed rather quiet, in comparison to the Lady Margaery by all means. But her sharp mind and caring nature were apparent as the clear day. Getting Arya soon to suspect that the Tyrell's earlier remark hadn’t solely been a jibe against her and sister.

Chapter Text

Arya got up the next morning, certain she would get to hear another harangue as soon as she entered their family’s private dining room in the Tower of the Hand. Yet, instead Lady Catelyn greeted delighted, “Arya, child, there you are. Come, you must try this juice. It’s delicious.” Whereas Sansa rushed towards her and hugged her cheerfully. Huh? Had she only dreamed last night?

“Aren’t you mad at me?” Arya blinked confused at her sister.
“Oh, that? No, never. Prince Gendry told me, his brother said unforgivable things to you… things, a lady should never hear.” Sansa assured compassionately. “And he fully understands you were in shock over that.” What shock? She didn’t need to be rescued! What didn’t he get about that? “So, actually it’s me who owes you an apology, and a huge thank you.” Sansa continued happily. Uh, now she got it. This was the dream. But it wasn’t. “You see, Prince Gendry wanted to make up for his brother’s behaviour and hence invited the both of us to go riding with him and his younger siblings in the afternoon.” Seven hells, no…
“First, we’ll hear that brother of his apologise now.” their father tried to put the stops on Sansa’s overexcitement, “I won’t have anyone in this household disrespected or insulted. Not even by a prince.” The fury in his glance seemed to say, Least by that one!

Though, naturally that didn’t keep Sansa from burbling on throughout breaking their fast. How excited she was, and how poor Margaery and all the other ladies must envy her now, since Prince Gendry hadn’t invited any lady-in-waiting to join him on his rides in years. “And all that thanks to Arya, who would’ve thought that?” Sansa giggled overjoyed. Then, maybe she should snap at princes more often…

However, their mother saw even more reasons for delight. Proclaiming, how wonderful she thought it, that already three eligible bachelors showed interest in Arya. Of course, since that was of the utmost importance. And Sansa assured promptly, she would deem all of them, men of good character and suitable in degree. Before their lord father once more intervened, to curb their enthusiasm, “She only just arrived, Cat. And let’s not jump to conclusions here. All three men have kept other ladies company before. Especially, the Lord of Storm’s End and Ser Loras, who I find both… a bit old.” He knew!

Arya had tried to focus on the food in front of her, pretending it wasn’t her future they planned so fervently, to not ruin her first peaceful breakfast since Winterfell. She’d be back on Catelyn Tully’s bad side soon enough. Yet, hearing the honourable Eddard Stark lie, caused her to look up from her plate and stare at her father in disbelief. And even more so, once she realised, it had escaped his wife’s notice completely. Seven hells.

“Oh, Ned, sometimes I wonder…” Lady Catelyn sighed, shaking her head, “This was no formal feast, they were just strolling in the gardens and neither of them had to keep her company. But if you insist on someone younger, fine. For now that still leaves us with Lord Dayne.”
“Actually, no.” Arya had enough of everyone talking as though she weren’t there, “He only kept me company because the crown prince asked him to.” Since she apparently was in shock like some stupid damsel in distress.
“Oh, Arya, don’t be silly—” Sansa laughed.
“I’m not.” Arya snapped, “He just wanted to tell me about Jon’s mother, that’s all.” Causing all three of them to gawk at her.

Fortunately though, that was the very moment when the royal nincompoop arrived to deliver his apology speech. Which unmistakably wasn’t his own words and Arya doubted, he meant even a single one of them. But she still fully enjoyed it, to see the little shit squirm over uttering them. Right until he suddenly offered to make amends to her. Hells, no! “Thank you, Your Grace, I accept your apology. No amends necessary.” she burst out then, causing her father to gasp in disagreement. But Arya continued before he could beg to differ, “You were clearly drunk last night, so I’m sure you didn’t mean any of it. Just like I didn’t mean to be rude to you, and I’m truly sorry that I was, Your Grace.” No, she wasn’t.

“I thank you for your understanding, my lady. But, please, rest assured, there’s nothing you needed to apologise for.” the brat got her message. “And allow me to offer you at least this, Lady Arya. Should you ever need anything here, you only need to ask and I’ll be gladly at your service.” Never going to happen. They both knew that. They were simply relieved, they didn’t have to spend any instant longer in each other’s presence.

Leaving Arya to then spend the three hours until noon alone with her father, who showed her around in the keep. “So, you won’t get lost again.” Ned Stark claimed smiling. Why could her mother never reprimand her like that?

During their tour through the palace, he asked Arya about her brothers, Winterfell and winter town. He even wanted to know how the wolves fared. And assured her, it were alright to miss everyone at home; that he himself missed them and the North every day. “Then why aren’t we going home?” Arya questioned, despite knowing the answer.
“We all have our responsibilities, child.” he always said that. “Our ancestors held and protected the North for thousands of years, and now this honour falls to us. To me and your brothers, and even to you and your sister.”

Yet, Arya still didn’t get it. She would gladly protect the North and its people, fight and die for them if necessary. Just like her brothers. She would have even joined the Night’s Watch alongside Jon, if that were possible for women. Why could her brothers actually protect the North, while she could not? She was a better rider than all four of them, a skilled archer and most of all a great water dancer, Syrio always said so. She could protect the North as well as any man. So, why wasn’t she allowed? When even the Wildlings allowed their women to fight – spearwives, they called them. A spear took away the advantages of a bigger and stronger opponent. She could learn to fight with a spear, if her small build was the issue.

Eddard Stark and his younger daughter had had this conversation over and over again, for years now. And each time he told her, no. Told her, she would marry some knight or high lord, to bear their sons and rule their castle. In doing so, she would protect the North – its future. But Arya just didn’t get it. What if she died in childbed? And the child then too? How would she have protected the North and its future, then? When all her existence would be for naught, then. It simply made no sense to her.

Wherefore in the end, her father tried to placate her by telling her, “You just came of age, child. You still have time.” Naming the Lady Margaery to prove his point, “She’s of age with Robb and still unwed.” he promised Arya once more, he would give her the time to choose a good man for herself. But she knew, she was already living on borrowed time. Afore long she would need to choose. A man. Family, Duty, Honour. Or herself.

Thus, by the time she had to get dressed for the ride, Arya was almost looking forward to it. At least, now she would get out of that stinking city and this bloody keep for a while – and out of reach for her mother and potential real suitors. Tommen surely wasn’t looking for a bride, yet. And to riding her dark bay hunting stallion, Arya indeed looked forward; Lady Catelyn had barely allowed her to ride him on their way south.

She and Sansa met the royal siblings and the two Kingsguard knights half an hour later at the stables. Where Prince Gendry welcomed them both and once again apologised for his brother’s misbehaviour. Yet, not for his own. Hence, Arya left it once more to her sister to deal with him. Greeting him only briefly as decorum commanded, Arya turned quickly to his siblings and her mount – who got noticeably exited for the ride now, upon seeing her there.

Yet, watching Ser Jaime assist the princess onto her delicate rose-gray mare then, while the crown prince aided Sansa onto her meek white gelding, made Arya fear for the worst; that he or Prince Tommen would attempt the same with her. But thankfully neither did, the crown prince merely remarked the very obvious, “That’s quite an impressive steed, Lady Arya.”
“Yes, he is.” she smiled. At her stallion, not the prince. He was her only friend left from home.
“How come a woman ride a mount with such a temper, my lady?” Prince Tommen butted in over mounting his placid dun gelding, seemingly confused at the notion. Men…
“Because I can, Your Grace.” Arya proclaimed, fighting her every fibre to not roll her eyes at such a stupid question. So, instead she led her stallion demonstratively away from the step ladder, lifted swiftly her skirts and mounted up on her own. Before she locked eyes with the young prince to address him again, “He was a gift from my father. For my fourteenth nameday.”
“See, no need to worry, Tom.” the crown prince chuckled, mounting that smug black bastard of his. Like master, like steed.
“My sister’s horsemanship is known throughout the North, Your Graces.” Sansa stated, steering her horse next to Prince Gendry’s. Wow, she truly was grateful.
“Don’t hide your own light under the bushel, Lady Sansa. I hear, you’re an exceptionally accomplished rider yourself.” the prince countered prompt, catapulting the older Stark girl over the moon at it. For being Sansa, yes, Arya fell just short of snorting, the while she and his siblings followed them both through the main gate, with Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan right behind.

Thankfully, drowned the horseshoes’ clopping on the cobblestones most of the nonsense out that Sansa and that stupid princeling chatted about whilst they were still within the city. Just seeing his dumb face smiling at her sister over and over, made Arya want to hit him. His siblings, though, she actually started to like. Even though, Prince Tommen instantly fuelled her homesickness, when he told her, he had hoped at least Arya would bring her direwolf along. No, one caged wolf in the capital was enough. Even Sansa had understood, Lady was better off at home, instead of playing the lapdog at court.

“My lady, you must forgive my brother.” Princess Myrcella intervened swiftly, “Turning fourteen evidently did him no good, he seems to get more impatient and impertinent by the day—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the young prince countered outraged.
“That you’ll come of age soon enough, to then venture north yourself and see as many direwolves as you want.” the princess chided calmly.
“That’s two more years!” Prince Tommen objected unappeased, sounding indeed impatient. Still, Arya envied him. For him coming of age meant freedom, for her though—
“Less than two years. And you’ll survive them, no doubt.” the princess interrupted Arya’s sullen thought, teasing her younger brother, “So, in the meantime you could at least pretend you weren’t in such a hurry to get away from your only sister, and show the Lady Arya that some people in this family actually do know to behave.” eliciting a small chuckle from Arya.
“Forgive me, my lady, you really must think us all rude imbeciles now.” the young prince uttered abashed.
“Not at all, Your Grace.” Arya assured smiling, “I find your company rather delightful.” It was.

The siblings’ bantering lifted her mood significantly, getting Arya to take to them even quicker. And especially Princess Myrcella seemed eager to show her the amenities of the south. Inviting Arya straightaway to go sailing with them someday, once she admitted she had never been at sea.

“Maybe you and the Lady Sansa could come with us to Dragonstone, for our cousin’s nameday this year?” Prince Tommen suggested, as they rode through the city gate.
“Only if you want, of course. But I know, Shireen would love to meet the two of you.” the princess agreed. “She’s so lovely and smart beyond her age… it’s such a pity, she isn’t allowed to live here with us. Which's absolute nonsense, if you ask me—”
“Us! If you ask us.” the young prince corrected at once, “The only women on that island unfit for court are the Lady Selyse herself and that red witch of hers.”
“Tom!” his sister reprimanded.
“What? Gendry said so,” Prince Tommen defended his blunt parlance, “and it’s not like it’s a secret or anything.” At which Arya couldn’t help laughing, concluding then for good that not everything and everyone at court was as serious and formal as her lady mother and Sansa wanted her to believe.
“Apologies, my lady, but I fear none of my brothers know their manners.” the princess laughed and her brother joined in.

“What are you three laughing at?” the crown prince turned in his saddle, “Are you two already blowing the gaff on my most embarrassing secrets to the Lady Arya?”
“Oh, get over yourself.” Prince Tommen taunted. And soon, please.
“Yeah, not everything's about you.” his sister agreed.
“I heard my name!” the crown prince protested jesting, “Didn’t I, Lady Sansa?”
“Yes, my prince. But I’m sure, they only said the nicest things.” Sansa weaseled herself out.
“Your sibling, perhaps. But I wouldn’t be so sure about mine.” Prince Gendry countered, arching his brows. Try the other way around, stupid. He turned in his saddle once more and challenged, “Pity, I can’t spill any beans about them— oh, wait, I can! Care to hear something really hilarious, Lady Sansa?”
“I’d love to.” Sansa assured giggly, before they both broke into a quick canter.

”Nice try, idiot. Maybe next time.” Prince Tommen scoffed at his brother, when the three of them caught up with the two mere moments later. Causing Arya and her steed to realise painfully, This was as good as things could get in this company. So, she wasn’t even surprised anymore when about an hour later, once a small inn came into view, the crown prince suggested, “We could get some rest and refreshments there, before we return to the keep. What do you think, my ladies?” By then, Arya had long decided, she would beseech her father after supper to allow her to go riding with Harwin the next day.

Before then upon their arrival at the venue, the crown prince suddenly remarked, “I must admit though, Lady Sansa, it’s kind of a shame that such a marvellous steed as your sister’s won’t get his proper exercise today.” Catching Arya entirely off-guard. What? “I’d gladly change that. Would you mind?” Over her dead body!
“No, my prince, what an excellent idea.” Sansa endorsed it right away, “We surely can spare you for a little while.” How could she? Arya glared at her, clenching her fists to restrain herself from tackling her sibling from horseback.
“Your Grace," she turned fretted to him instead, “I thank you for the offer. But my stallion doesn’t like to be ridden by strangers. He’s kind of stubborn.”
“Oh, no, my lady, you misunderstood me. I’d hoped you’d join me for a quick ride to that old oak tree upon the hill over there.” the prince clarified and challenged, “Unless, you’re too tired—” How dare you?
“I’m not tired!” Arya snapped offended.
“So, it’s settled.” he smirked confidently, “A race, then.” Bloody fucker…
“No, it’s not! I can’t leave my sister here alone—”
“Don’t be silly, Arya. I’m not alone.” Sansa rolled her eyes.
And the princess assured promptly, “Tom and I will gladly keep your sister company, and Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan will keep her just as safe as us, rest assured, Lady Arya.”

“Well, it’s not only my sister’s reputation that’s at stake here.” Arya countered fuming, barely able to hide her anger.
“Arya! You can hardly mean to imply, Prince Gendry could’ve anything else in mind but to give your mounts the exercise they crave?” Sansa chided outraged. Oh, you bet!
“It’s only a few leagues, my lady. We’ll be back within half an hour.” the crown prince countered amused, “And I assure you, your honour won’t be in question on your return. Our siblings can see us the whole way there and back.” Son of a bitch, he planned this all along.
“Fine, I’ll race you.” Arya huffed, before challenging infuriated, “Want a head start?”
“Arya!” her sister reprimanded once more.
But the crown prince already teased grinning, “Do I look like I need one?”
“Yes.” Arya smirked and darted over the meadows, no longer hearing Sansa’s anew chiding.

She turned in her saddle, to see him gaining ground. Fool. She wanted him to catch up. She was no cheat. Like him. And this time she would get to see his dumb face. Her mount was younger and leaner, and the prouder stallion. He’d rather die than lose a race. Whilst Arya wasn’t only the lighter rider, but evidently also the better horseman. Though most of all, the two of them had raced swaggering fools like that stupid prince and his black son of a bitch before.

Hence by the time the royal nincompoop arrived atop the hill, her steed was demonstratively grazing and Arya leaned lazily against the oak’s trunk, mirroring his smug grin from the day before. “You’re late, Your Grace.” she announced and bowed to him, mocking him even further.
“I can see that.” he burst out laughing.

Right as her smirk made way for all the rage, she had been holding back since the day before. “So, here I am.” she snapped, “What do you want? My help in wooing my sister? Fine. Anything, to teach that Tyrell viper a lesson…”
“Err, as tempting as teaching a lesson to certain people sounds,” he stammered perplexed, “I honestly just thought you might like to go riding… a real ride, I mean. I’d hoped it were a good way to make amends for Joffrey’s misbehaviour—”
“And what about your own behaviour, Your Grace?” Arya spat.
“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.
“Not telling me who you are, stupid.” she hissed, “I hope you enjoyed my silly face last night. Because, thanks to you, now everyone thinks I’m swooning over you—”
“But you're not?” he taunted, showing that annoying smug grin of his again.
“No, of course not.” she snapped fuming.
“I like that.” Huh?
“Then why pretend we hadn’t met yet?” she furrowed her brow annoyed.
“Maybe I like the two of us sharing a secret?” he teased on.
“Rubbish.” she had enough and got back onto her mount, to return to the inn.

“I did it to protect you.” he claimed, bringing his steed next to hers.
“Liar!”
“I’m not lying.”
“Doesn’t matter. I told you, I can handle myself. I don’t need your protection.” she huffed, “In fact, you’re lucky you’re still alive. I nearly stabbed you down there in the vaults.”
“I didn’t realise you were armed, then.” He blinked surprised and studied her as though he searched a hidden dagger on her.
“You were, stupid.” she rolled her eyes, not liking his gaze on her.
“You’d kill a man with his own blade?” he chuckled.
“Without blinking.” she huffed, eliciting another chuckle from him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I, my lady.” he countered, suddenly all waggishness gone. “Some people here would do anything to gain power.”
“You mean the Lady Margaery?”
“Amongst others.” he sighed.
“Then why not send her away?”
“Don’t you think I'd long done that, if I could? If it wouldn’t insult entire House Tyrell?” he snapped at her. Before he quietly added, “There’s only one way to get her to back off.” Which is? Arya studied him quizzically.
“If I and my brothers marry someone else.” he answered her question, as though she had spoken it aloud.
“Then why not do that, marry someone else?” she retorted, not really seeing a problem there. That hole damn keep was flowing over with willing geese. “Marry my sister!” Arya blurted, realising Sansa was indeed his best option. “She’s not as stupid as you think, you need a brain to play that dumb.”
He chuckled again, yet almost sad now, “Actually, I think your sister’s one of the brightest people at court, if not in the Seven Kingdoms.” he paused, “But you see, there were other girls, not quite so shrewd. They all disappeared rather quickly. Some even disgraced, once certain people thought they’d got too close to me. So, believe me, Lady Arya, you don’t want anyone to know, you and I spent time alone in those vaults… your sister's the only one that managed to outwit ‘the viper’, as you call her so aptly, this long.”

“That’s because Sansa’s a wolf. She’s like Lady, sweet and gentle. But that doesn’t mean she won’t bite your head off, if you taunt her enough.” Arya explained, rather proud of her sister now.
“I know.”
“Then what’re you waiting for? You'll hardly find a more beautiful bride.” Arya snorted, now fairly certain he was a moron.
“You surprise me, Lady Arya.” he chuckled, more cheerful again, “As I’d understood, the Stark sisters fight like cats and dogs. Yet, here you are, fiercely championing your sister—” he even smiled at her now, without taunting for once.
“Just because I don’t like her, doesn’t mean I don’t love her.” Arya snapped, seeing his smile widen even more at that. It irritated her, so she warned, “And I won’t have her disrespected or disgraced, by neither you nor that Tyrell.”
“I've no intentions to do that.” he claimed, getting more serious again, “It’s just, um… err, I’m not entirely sure about your sister’s feelings for me.” Of a sudden he avoided meeting her glance, seeming somewhat insecure now, “I’m not saying, she’s doing it deliberate. You know, to mislead me like others do. Though to me it seems, as if your sister’s more smitten with the idea of marrying the future king than actually with me as a person.”

Arya studied him for a moment, before questioning, “And you want her to love you?”
“Well, I suppose I’d hoped to find someone, who, you know… loves all of me, and not just my degree and titles.” he squirmed, particular with the use of the word ‘love’. Arya would have laughed at him for that. However, his serious expression and the fact that he apparently was about to reject her sister, kept her from doing so. “And with your sister,” he cautiously went on, “please, don't get me wrong, Lady Arya. I really like her, I do…” But? She narrowed her eyes, not liking where this was going. Sansa was her sister, no matter what. “But somehow I’m relieved, she isn’t actually in love with me. Since I’m not sure whether I could return the affection—” he revealed at last.
“Then you’re an idiot!” Arya snarled, spurring her stallion to race back to the inn.
“I never promised your sister anything!” he called after her, “Never even mentioned matrimony to her—” But it only made her speed up more. Despite her guts telling her that he was right about her sister, Arya couldn't help feeling as though he had insulted Sansa.

Wherefore she then once more stuck solely to his siblings, at the inn and on the way back to the royal palace. Yet, instead of pondering over her own lot again, Arya now brooded over what the prince had told her – about Margaery and about Sansa. That stupid bull-headed twerp.

He once again tried to placate her, when his siblings had bid their farewells at the stables. Suggesting, he could find her a skilled ostler, able to exercise her steed properly whenever she couldn’t. But Arya naturally declined. That honour belonged to Harwin only, who had raised and trained the mount with her. So, after bidding the prince goodbye outside the Tower of the Hand, where he at last took his leave, Arya then turned to her sister, “Sansa, why’re you friends with Margaery?”

Chapter Text

After her conversation with Sansa, Arya was even more determined to avoid the company of Margaery Tyrell. Thankfully, that got easier now. As the princess continued to invite her to her circle, whenever her lady mother made her attend any women only activities. Which in turn unfortunately led to having to attend even more of them. For now that she had gained the princess’s favour, she would need to make sure to keep it, Catelyn Tully claimed.

Princess Myrcella had proven to be generous and thoughtful from the start. But she also didn’t seem to mind, Arya struggled quite a bit with the rules and politics at court. Rather the contrary, the king’s daughter patiently provided her insight into the social dynamics in the Red Keep, allowing Arya to prevent at least some of the accidental embarrassments, certain courtiers unmistakably hoped for. Like, when she had accepted invitations to walks in the gardens from three different ladies-in-waiting, and in her attempt to kill two birds with one stone, Arya had simply arranged a stroll of four - entirely unaware of the hostility between two of the women until then.

However, beginning to understand life at court, still didn’t change the fact that Arya hated it. Particularly the females only activities, when she felt the most out of place. And what did her mother expect? She had hated it in Winterfell, why should a different scenery change that now? All these garden strolls and silly conversations, boring reading sessions and most of all those awful embroidery gatherings couldn’t fulfil her. And never would.

So, Arya still couldn’t overcome the temptation to sneak away, whenever she saw a chance for it. To slip into her trousers and wander the keep almost incognito. To feel like herself again. And just as in Winterfell, she befriended guards and servants, stable boys and kitchen staff; who provided her with an even better insight into the court dynamics, as well as the latest gossip.

But Arya naturally didn’t care about such, what she cared about was getting to know the place. Like finding faster routes to the dragon skulls, to spend some more time with Balerion. However, she only went there when she was halfway certain, she wouldn’t stumble across that stupid bull-headed prince again. And besides a handful unlucky encounters, which she always escaped promptly, Arya even succeeded in avoiding him then; she now always checked the dark corners, afore battling the feisty tomcat.

The animal soon enjoyed playing around with her like that – probably due to the delicacies she offered him afterwards. Thus before long, he showed her willingly around in the other vaults. One of them, full of old dragon-ornamented furniture and tapestries, was the perfect practice ground for her and a safe stash for her secret treasures.

Only, it didn’t solve her ultimate problem, that she was in this place that she hated, for a reason she hated even more. And the more time passed, the more suitors popped up – real ones now. Arya loathed each and every one of them, but none more than an old childless riverlord. Who assumed, having fought side by side with her Tully grandfather, would as good as grant him her hand in marriage. After all, she were only the second daughter and last in line for Winterfell, he argued once he approached her on her escape from yet another sewing session. “Then I could just as well marry my uncle, the Blackfish, couldn’t I?” Arya spat outraged and threatened to gouge the man’s eyes out, if he ever so much as looked into her or Sansa’s direction again.

He logically went straight to her lady mother at that, certain Arya would need to reconsider rebuffing him. And indeed Catelyn Tully was livid at hearing of the incident, but for a change not at her daughter. Sadly though, her mother wasn’t at one with Arya on her other suitors – mostly younger sons of lesser houses. What luck so, her three original suitors proved unwilling to step aside just yet.

Two days after Lord Renly’s nameday feast, Ned Dayne had invited her to a stroll in the gardens. Which soon became an almost daily routine for them, making Arya’s time at court a good deal more bearable. For a start, kept the Dornishman’s regular company her actual suitors at bay. Seeing how quickly and how well the two got along, made quite a few interested parties revisit their prospects with her. Though, admittedly Ned’s close friendship with the crown prince mayhap also played a part in that – the brighter of these pompous pricks just didn’t think her worth the trouble of crossing a potential future Hand of the king.

But Arya’s reasons to seek the young lord’s company were far simpler. Ned was kind and empathic, he had a quick wit and seemed one of only a few people at court that didn’t pursue any secret agendas. And despite his connections with Prince Gendry and the Lord of Storm’s End, as well as Ser Loras and other prestigious young knights, he appeared way more settled than his friends. He was quieter, and seemed even shy at times.

Yet most of all, Ned was a great horseman, and kept inviting Arya to ride out with him – thrice a sennight at least. At first, Jeyne Poole had been tasked to chaperone them on their rides. But luckily Lady Catelyn had soon seen reason, that Harwin was the better choice for the task. So, Arya and her stallion could at last go riding for real again. Now even without being reprimanded, when she returned dirt-stained and flush-faced and with a loosened braid afterwards.

The prospect of young Lord Dayne asking for Arya’s hand, made her lady mother more indulgent to her escapades than ever before. Only, Catelyn Tully’s hopes and prayers came for naught. The handsome Dornishman spoke of marriage not even once, proving himself a true friend.

Lord Renly and Ser Loras on the other hand had left for Storm’s End the day after the nameday celebration. And neither returned to court until two fortnights later, when they instantly resumed their courtship of Arya. They invited her to a stroll in the gardens the next day, and half a sennight later to a picnic at the shores of the Blackwater Rush. Where Jeyne Poole then happily chaperoned, as both men were known for their taste for luxury and entirely lived up to that reputation.

Unfortunately though were all activities with them – and particularly the ones at the Red Keep – always over-shadowed by Lady Margaery. Arya knew, should the competition between her sister and that viper eventually escalate, then neither Ser Loras nor Lord Renly were likely to side with her and Sansa.

Heretofore however, Arya intended to fully enjoy the two men’s casual company. She was especially exalted when Ser Loras honoured his promise, taking her to that famous armourer, he had spoken of at the banquet. Coincidentally though, on the very same morning that Lord Renly and Prince Tommen were there, to commission new armour for the young prince. And the Lord of Storm’s End unsurprising offered, he could join them on their sailing trip afterwards; so poor chaperoning Alyn would have some company too, he argued. Yet, Arya had a better idea.

“My lords, it seems I feel a bit dizzy of a sudden. I fear, sailing wouldn’t agree with me today.” she claimed, seeing evident disappointment flash over both men’s faces. So, Arya clarified her position quickly, suggesting that Lord Renly should take her place on the boat, so Ser Loras wouldn’t have wasted all his efforts. And she could keep the young prince company at the shop in the meantime, to then return to the palace with him.
“My lady, I believe I only now come to understand the rare beauty of the winter rose.” the Knight of Flowers kissed her hand overgrateful, causing Arya to blush with embarrassment at the corny compliment.
“You’re indeed one of a kind, little wolf.” the stormlander chuckled, following his friend’s example. Before they both eagerly disappeared through the shop’s door.

“That was most generous of you, Lady Arya. Usually, the women insist on keeping up the appearances until they find themselves other suitors.” Prince Tommen quethed next to her in a subdued voice. “Would you mind though, if we stayed a little longer? Then Gendry could join us on the way back.” he added a moment later, when they turned their attention to the armourer and his display pieces again.
“Err, no, sure, Your Grace.” Arya was all but thrilled at the notion, yet knew she could hardly refuse. Leastwise Tommen was nice enough company. Arya liked the young prince, he reminded her quite a bit of Bran. Although, he soon turned out even shier around womenfolk than her own little brother.

Once it came to taking his measurements, it wasn’t enough that Arya turned away unprompted, to look through Master Mott’s vast collection of armour drafts meanwhile. Before even unlacing his doublet, the youngling burst out, “My lady, would you like to visit him?”
“Who?” Arya questioned absent, riveted by the detailed Corbray armour design on the parchment scroll in her hands then.
“Gendry.” the prince chuckled at her confusion.
“He’s already here?” she turned puzzled back around.
“Aye, at the barn.” Prince Tommen grinned, nodding towards the back door.
“Girl, show my lady to way.” the master armourer instructed his maid, apparently grasping the cause for the young prince’s sudden unease.

The slim girl led her into the small yard behind the house at that, while Arya still wondered what the crown prince could be doing in the smithy. “M’lady can wait here, I’ll get Gendry.” the girl piped sheepish and rushed into the large stone barn. Did she just refer to him without his title? Arya thought frowning, and followed the maid absent-minded into the dimly lit building, drawn in by the so familiar scents and sounds of steel being hammered. Iron. Smoke. Steam. Sweat. Mikken’s forge.

The hot air inside almost took her breath away and made small pearls of sweat appear on her forehead. But Arya didn’t mind. Finally, something that felt just like home. Journeymen and apprentices were busy at several forges – probably already preparing for the next tourney. Nevertheless, Arya soon felt their eyes on her. They undoubtedly thought her completely out of place in their midst, in her fancy dark green atlas dress. If only they knew… she could stay in this barn for ages.

Her eyes drank the familiarity of the site in and landed eventually on the bare back of the man, the servant girl was talking to now. Wait… Arya blinked, as it slowly dawned on her. Was this— The very same moment, the wide-eyed maid nudged the man’s arm, causing him to spin around at once. Seven hells, it was him! “Arya?” he exclaimed startled, before stammering, “My lady, what’re you doing here?”
“Um,” she was equally thunderstruck, “Tommen, well, your brother— the armourer, he’s taking his measurements… Your Grace.” Suddenly she truly appreciated the heat around her, feeling a blush creep up her neck.
“Um, okay.” he replied, as flustered as her.
“I told her to wait outside!” the servant girl squeaked panicking, making Arya realise that she intruded the place.
“I’m sorry.” she muttered abashed and bit her lower lip, almost grateful when the prince regained his wits then.
“Don’t worry, Elinor. The Lady Arya isn’t exactly known for doing as she’s told.” he chuckled, “Isn’t that right, my lady?” Almost grateful.

He walked up to her, his surprised fluster giving way to a smile that threatened to turn into his annoying smirk, “So, my lady went exploring again, hm?”
“No.” Arya growled, feeling caught red-handed. She could scarcely look at him without blinking, “It’s just, the barn smelt— sounded like the smithy at home…” she tried to explain, urging herself to regain her composure. “I was only told you were at the barn, I didn’t know you’d be—”
“Working?” he suggested for an ending to her unfinished sentence, and she could only nod. Grimy, sweaty, half-na— like that! Catching her eyes trail down from his striking blue eyes, Arya was glad he at least wore an apron. Get your shit together! she chided herself and dropped her gaze to the ground – a far less unsettling sight.

“So, you work here?” she tried to overcome the awkwardness between them, when to her surprise he remained silent.
“Sometimes.” he retorted calm.
“Why?” she looked baffled up at him.
“It was my hideout when I was little.” he explained shrugging. Hiding from what? Though, before she could ask, he went on, “I was here so often, Master Mott one day jested, I could just as well apprentice for him.”
“And so, you did?” she asked, haranguing herself mentally, Stop stating the obvious!
“So, I did.” he smiled at her again. And you moron stop smirking like an imbecile, she wanted to snap at him.
But instead she asked incredulous, “And the king and queen just let you?”
“Once they found out, I was already halfway done with my apprenticeship. And Arryn convinced them, it were a good thing. So, here I am.” he grinned, but not in a smug way – somehow happy. If she’d tried something like this, she would’ve been shipped off to the silent sisters right away. Arya envied him, yet found herself smiling back at him now, amazed and someway impressed.

“But, pray, how come my lady stumbled into Mott’s shop with Tommen today? Has my little brother now also joined the wolf hunt?”
“What?” she blurted bewildered.
“I was only jesting. I think I’d know, if Tom—” he placated promptly.
“No, I meant, there’s a name for it? As though it were some game?”
“I fear so.” he compressed his lips, trying not to laugh.
“Seven hells…”
“Seven hells, indeed.” he agreed amused, “First, everyone was afraid of rabies, upon hearing the she-wolf of Winterfell was coming down south, and now half court’s pursuing you—”
“I’m no bloody trophy!” Arya snapped infuriated.
“Tell me about it!” he chuckled.
“So, with you it’s the stag hunt?” she scoffed.
“Probably.” he laughed, “All I ever heard was a joke about your sister and Margaery. About a rose growing strong for two decades, only to have a fledgling wolf snatch her prey from under her nose.”
“And you’re hiding in here until either lose interest?”
“Well,” he grinned mischievous, “One wolf evidently managed to sniff me out here now.”

“Aye, one in need of a hideout herself. So, you obviously have nothing to fear from me.” she huffed frustrated, before getting a flash of insight then, “Could I hide here?” That seemed to stun him completely. He scratched the back of his head, as if at a loss of words.
“Err, well—”
“Just today!” Arya almost begged.
“Um, you see, when I’m here I’m just a journeyman. And I’ve work to do—”
“I don’t mind. I can, err…” she glanced past him, her gaze landing on the wooden stool near his workplace, “sit over there and watch.”
“You want to sit there, on that dirty stool, and watch me work?” he questioned taken aback.
“I won’t disturb you, I promise. Mikken and I usually talked, but if you prefer silence, then I just sit there like a mute. You won’t even know I’m there.” she pleaded, her mind made up.
“Alright.” he eventually gave in, asking the even more perplexed maid to get her a clean cloth for the stool. “I won’t return you all mucky again.” he insisted, before Arya could object.

At first, he seemed quite tense about having her there, watching him, though. He soon burst out, “I think I don’t mind some talking, either.”
“And what’d you like to talk about?” Arya taunted smirking. Despite feeling slightly on edge herself, it thrilled her somehow, to see this usually so smug man so bashful of a sudden.
“Um, I don’t know…” he scratched the back of his head again and locked eyes with her, “Want to tell me about that Mikken of yours?”
“He’s not my Mikken, stupid.” Arya snorted with laughter, “He’s old and fat and happily married. He’s our master blacksmith at Winterfell, and my friend. He made my Needle, you know.”
“Your needle?” he questioned confused.
“My sword!” she doubled up with laughter, seeing his dumb face.
“So, it’s true, my lady’s a swordswoman?” he inquired curious.
“Yap.” she grinned, relishing the admiring look he gave her then.
“Interesting.” he smiled to himself, the spell on him broken. He visibly began to relax and even looked as though he enjoyed her company now.

However, seeing him entirely focussed on ornamenting the breast plate in front of him, someway increased Arya’s tension. He was good. Better than good, she realised amazed over studying the other journeymen, to confirm her observation. Master Mott didn’t just try to keep on the right side of the future king, the armourer saw something in him. Talent. And quite a bit of it.

With him now fully concentrated on his work again, it dawned on Arya, This was the real Prince Gendry. No, this was Gendry. No titles, no pretence. Just the man, Gendry. The man that somehow flustered and unsettled her like no one before. Arya tried to figure out, what it was that was so puzzling about him. However, studying him only made things worse.

Her own eyes seemed to rebel against her. She wanted to watch him work the metal, bending it to his will. Yet, somehow her eyes found him the more intriguing sight. Arya hated it, how of a sudden she couldn’t keep her gaze away from his bare skin anymore. Nothing there to look at! she scolded herself. Only, her eyes wouldn’t listen. She hated, she noticed now all kind of different things about him. Things, she hadn’t perceived before. His stormy blue eyes, in stark contrast to his dark hair. The way he looked when focussed on the steel, his brows furrowed and how he sometimes sucked his lower lip in then, licking it afterwards. How his lips were just the right amount of full, unlike the pouty ones of his nincompoop sibling. He was handsome. At that realisation, her own mind appeared to yell at her, Of course, he is, stupid! He’s his uncle’s lookalike, and you noticed, Renly was handsome the moment you saw him—

“My lady, are you alright?” Gendry rouse her from her thoughts.
“Err, yeah, I was just thinking about something.” she blurted, after finding her eyes fixed on a set of tongs, as her teeth worked her lower lip.
“More like brooding over something.” he chuckled amused. And only then, Arya realised he had finished the piece of armour.
“Are you done?” she asked surprised, causing her mind to chide again, Stop. Stating. The. Obvious.
“For today, yes.” he smiled. His nice smile, the genuine one. Stop it! she scolded herself once more. “How about you check on Tommen now? I’ll join you in a moment then.” he suggested, and Arya could only nod. Following him out of the barn, she hurried swiftly back over the yard. “Make sure, he commissions some decent armour.” Gendry called after her, heading to the well by the barn. “If I see him running around in such fancy ornamented mirrors as you just saw at my forge, I’ll blame you, my lady.” he teased winking.

Yet, again Arya’s reply was a mere nod, before she slipped back into the shop room. To find Master Mott had already finished his first quick draft for the young prince’s armour. “What do you think, my lady?” Prince Tommen inquired right away. No mirrors, though fancy enough.
“An armour worthy of a king, Your Grace.” Arya assured, forcing herself to a smile. The lad's chest swelled visible at her praise, nonetheless. And Tobho Mott showed her eager more drafts of his richly ornamented armour designs, while they waited for Gendry. The master armourer seemed amazed that a woman – and a noble one at that – showed genuine interest in his craftsmanship. Arya, however, found it now rather difficult to focus on the man and his undeniably outstanding designs.

She even quietened more on the ride back to the Red Keep. Where luckily the young prince next to her talked all the way, obviously chuffed to bits about the next tourney now. Whereas his older brother chose to ride behind them then, together with Alyn and Ser Jaime. Thankfully. For of a sudden, Arya felt a desperate need to get away from him. As far away as possible, from whatever he had been doing to her at the smithy.

So much, she truly dreaded to see him again afterwards. She felt instantly tense again, when their paths accidentally crossed in the palace over the following days. She felt like a drawn bow, ready to loosen its arrow, when he was within sight now.

Even though, he only exchanged the formally expected pleasantries with her then. Exactly like before her visit to Mott’s shop. Only in company of their siblings or mutual friends, he interacted brief with her directly. Yet, the man she talked to then, was no longer Gendry from the forge. Back at the Red Keep, he once more was the crown prince – all smug grins and everything else, Arya didn’t like about him. Which oddly helped her to eventually act normal around him again. To avoid him because he annoyed her, and not because he made her feel strange in her own skin.

While she spent her time quite like before – with her three false suitors and the princess, mostly. The latter had actually even more reason to spend time with Arya now, since Trystane Martell openly showed interest in her. And their strolls in the gardens provided Myrcella casual opportunities to meet her admirer. They somehow always stumbled across Ned now, who coincidentally happened to be in company of the Dornish prince just then.

Before long, the two lovebirds and their chaperone Tommen also became regular companions for Arya and Ned on their rides. However, what puzzled Arya soon, was that they more and more often met Prince Gendry on these rides – entirely on his own, and not once on his destrier. Only ever on that arrogant prick of a hunting steed. He claimed to return from visits at nearby villages and keeps then. Or from hunting, empty-handed though. And apparently he even started fishing at the Blackwater Rush now. As lucky as in hunting. While his stallion always craved for some more exercise then, getting the heir to the throne to decide, he would join them for the rest of their way. Each time.

Arya didn’t get it, though. If he thought Tommen incapable to keep Trystane in check, why not officially chaperone them himself? Why this entire stupid charade? Why not simply forbid the rides and strolls, and be done with it? And why would Myrcella not tell him to fuck off? Despite that both, she and Trystane, tensed up noticeably whenever the crown prince was around. And Arya knew by now, Myrcella spoke her mind quite frankly – especially against her brothers. So, why wouldn’t she on this? When she wanted nothing more but to enjoy these private moments with her suitor, away from the prying eyes at court. Did she fear, Trystane, a goddamn Dornishman, would feel appalled, if she told her brother to get lost? It was odd, the whole thing.

Yet, what bewildered Arya the most about it, was Ned. When she asked him about his friend’s behaviour, he claimed, he wouldn’t know what had gotten into the crown prince of late. And It was a lie, Arya was certain. She knew, Ned had never lied to her before. So, why now? What the fuck was going on with all of them?

Chapter Text

Over the following three moon’s turns, court lost slowly interest in Arya. The fact that she proved far more civilised than the wild rumours prior her arrival had suggested, seemed quite disappointing for some courtiers. Forcing them to satisfy their crave for gossip elsewhere then. First, with a Vale lord that had brought a common whore to court, posing as his wife. Only to be discovered, once said woman then demanded payment for her services from other noblemen. Afterwards, the rumour mill focussed on a middle-aged widow from the crownlands, who miraculously had given birth to a child, full four years after her lord husband’s passing. Since she’d obviously never heard of moon tea. The rumourmongers at court had quite fun with that one, speculating and betting on who the child’s sire might be. But unfortunately, for the gamblers, the man in question remained a mystery. Nonetheless, the gossiping and lusting for other people’s misery continued. Like a never-ending spiral.

And Arya certainly didn’t mind, she no longer was at the centre of everyone’s attention. It made many things easier for her, such as skipping sewing sessions, or at least sneaking away during the course of them. Even without risking to cross her lady mother for long. With Loras and Renly back at the Red Keep, even Lady Catelyn saw reason enough to allow her younger daughter to keep her attendance at court activities and even feasts at a minimum; to get some rest in between all the riding and sailing and other pastimes, her three most tenacious suitors invited her to.

The Knight of Flowers and the Lord of Storm’s End came up with all kind of ideas, how the three of them could enjoy themselves. Once, they took her and Jeyne to a small island in Blackwater Bay. Where they picnicked together on top of a hill overseeing the whole bay, before the men spent the afternoon on one side of the isle and Arya and Jeyne on the other. The two young women went swimming and fooled around as if they were little again that day. Then another time, Loras and Renly took them to see a play. It was hilarious. Not the play though, Arya couldn’t even tell what it had been about afterwards. Her suitors provided a ton of food as usual, and soon they started a cherry-stone spitting contest, targeting the high-teased hair of the snobby ladies in the audience. And when they ran out of cherries, they just threw whatever small objects they could get hold of. Whilst their miffed victims never managed to identify the four of them as culprits, despite Renly’s roaring laughter at every hit. Even timid Jeyne yelled with laughter, and fully enjoyed chaperoning Arya with these two splendid suitors.

Whereas, Ned’s courtship was something else entirely, far less excessive and more authentic instead. Although, he and Arya mostly just went strolling or riding, she found it as exciting as her time with Renly and Loras. She even liked it better. Arya and Ned were far too busy laughing and chatting anyway to focus on other things. They just proved wonderfully in tune and felt sympathetic to one another. Thus only once, when Ned had lied to her about the crown prince’s sudden appearances on their rides, a tiny cloud hung over their heads for a day or two. At first, Arya feared, Ned would think her too childish and would get tired of her. But thankfully things between them brightened up again soon. It was just one little lie, and it obviously didn’t concern her, Arya told herself at last. Ned was probably sworn to secrecy. Yeah, that must be it, she tried not to overthink it any longer.

After all, the Dornishman was the only one at court she could really talk to, about pretty much anything. Well, almost anything. He didn’t know about the vaults, and Arya couldn’t even say why she never told him, considering it was no big deal. But telling him of her first encounter with the heir to the throne felt somehow wrong. Or about her visit to the smithy, that felt even more wrong to tell… Ned or anyone. Arya could still feel the warmth creeping up her neck, just thinking about him.

Hence, when the crown prince suddenly started to join them on their rides, she feared at first, he or Tommen would mention it in front of the others. But neither did. Thankfully. And before long Arya even enjoyed to have Prince Gendry there, be it to race him and Ned and Harwin across the meadows. Or watching him and Ned bicker and taunt one another, as they blurted out embarrassing stories about the respective other. Particularly about their time as squires, when they had played tricks on each other and nearly every other squire in the crownlands and stormlands. Yet, none more than poor Lancel Lannister, ‘the Forever Squire’ they still called him, since the clumsy blond had squired until he turned twenty. And Arya just couldn’t help letting out a guffaw at hearing so; she had met Ser Lancel by then, and hence could literally visualise him sticking out between the younger and smaller lads.

Arya soon even found herself waiting for the eldest prince to emerge from the woods or behind the next hill. Riding was a lot more fun with him there. Almost like at home. His and Ned’s stories and Tommen’s attempts to emulate them, reminded her so much of her brothers. How Robb, Jon and Theon had run rigs, and how she and Bran had usually been involved somehow too. Once even Sansa, so Theon couldn’t smell the rat, when they had downsized his favourite breeches to make him think he got fat. That definitively was one of their best tricks. Arya could still recall Theon’s face and swearing, when on the steps outside the Great Hall the seams over his bum had ripped, whilst all five of them had split with laughter behind him. Quite like her riding companions then did during their pause at the banks of the Blackwater, where Arya imposed for them, how her father’s ward had tried to walk comfortably that morning. The princess even laughed herself to tears at it, and warned her brothers better not to mess with her again now. Unless of course, they were eager to find out how poor Theon must have felt. But the crown prince merely thanked her for the warning, declaring now he could finally get fat and blame it all on her.

“You seem happy, child.” Lady Catelyn remarked after that ride, causing Arya’s mood to sour at once. She knew exactly why she said that. Her lady mother was waiting for her to say certain things since a while now.
Therefore, Arya told her the exact opposite, “I’m not holding a torch for Ned, and I don’t want to marry him.” The truth.
“Is that so?” her mother arched her brows at her.
And Sansa teased, “Come on, you’re literally beaming right now—”
“Because I was riding, stupid.” Arya snapped fretted, “And not what you call riding, but the kind of riding that makes you feel absolutely exhausted afterwards… so, of course my skin’s flushed.”
“Doesn’t explain, why you happily grinned like a fool.” her sister went on.
“Well, maybe I was imposing you with your silly ‘I love my stupid princeling so much’ face?"

“Enough!” their mother reprimanded and turned to Arya, “You’re still so young, how could you possibly even know what love is?” Yet, just when Arya dared to hope, her mother would see reason, Lady Catelyn had to ruin it again. “Or what isn’t. I think you’re quite smitten with Lord Dayne, you just don’t know it, yet. But the signs are all there, child.” Gods, there was far too much idiocy in the room.
Arya covered her eyes with her palm, before she again attempted to get them to understand, “The signs you see, are that I like him. As my friend, as I like Mycah. Or do you think I love Mycah too now?” she asked, seeing the two women exchange a worried glance. Seven hells! “No, I don’t love Mycah, and with Ned it’s just the same. It feels just the same. It’s just a plain and simple friendship.” Bloody morons.

However, after this anew attempt to talk her into entrapping the Lord of Starfall into marriage, Arya decided, it were high time to teach the two a lesson. With the tournament in celebration of the king’s nameday little more than a moon’s turn ahead, she and Ned arranged to skip riding until afterwards. The while Arya instead went riding with Loras and Renly then. Usually, to some roadside inn or village alehouse, where the two noblemen then stayed behind, while she and Harwin exercised her and her father’s steeds to the fullest. So, she always returned flush-faced and deliberately grinning like a nincompoop afterwards – waiting for her mother and sister to take the bait. Which of course they eventually did. Unbelievable… After a fortnight they told her keen, she were most definitively in love with Lord Dayne. Before Arya then self-satisfied revealed, she hadn’t gone riding with Ned anymore. “So, evidently I just love riding quite a lot, hm?”

Only, what she hadn’t thought of in her scheme, was Myrcella. Two days after her mother and sister had lastly walked into her trap, the princess invited Arya to join her for some pastries in the orchards in the afternoon. “My lady, I hope you forgive me my blunt speech now, but I really would like to know, if I or my brothers have wronged you someways?” Myrcella came straight to the point. Huh?
“No, of course not.” Arya retorted baffled.
“But then what other reason could you have had to suddenly evade riding with us of late?” Myrcella inquired unconvinced.
“Oh, that…” Arya realised her blunder abashed, “Your Grace, I didn’t mean to slight you or keep you in the dark… I suppose I merely assumed Ned would let you all in unprompted. But perhaps I hadn’t made quite clear, it wasn’t a secret. Or at least none, I wanted him to keep from you.”
“Pray, let us in on what?” the princess studied her puzzled.
“It’s mostly just stupid,” Arya explained embarrassed, how her lady mother and sister had teased her about Ned; and wherefore she had needed to prove them wrong, to get them to stop. Causing Myrcella to burst into laughter and conclude, “It seems we could easily kill both our birds with one stone, if only we could swap our mothers. For mine can’t stand the notion of me and my siblings ever entering the bond of marriage.”
“Just tell me when and where, I’m definitively in for that swap.” Arya jested relieved that her friend forgave her yet another lapse in her manners.

“Well, since this obviously was just a misunderstanding,” Myrcella lowered her voice, “I should probably give you this now.” She subtly handed Arya a small scroll of parchment.
“What is it?” Arya blinked perplexed at the sudden secrecy.
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Myrcella giggled, watching aquiver as Arya unrolled it in her lap.
A note, she realised stunned and read, “Still interested in the passageway? Nightfall. You know where. P.S. Breeches stringently required.” It instantly made her ears buzz. Blinking and knitting her brows, Arya read it a second time. And a third. It made no sense. Yet, when she eventually looked up at the princess again, she found her friend smiling, evidently pleased.
“You know who this’s from?” Arya asked unbelieving.
“Don’t you?” Myrcella’s smile turned into confusion, “I was told, you’d understand.”
“Err, I do know. But I don’t understand, well, I understand… the note. But why?”
“Shouldn’t you rather ask that question someone else?” Myrcella chuckled anew and nodded at the scroll.

Arya turned his suggestion over in her mind for the rest of the day. This wasn’t proper, she knew that much. Even if she hadn't noticed, how secretive Myrcella had handled it. And he hadn't phrased it so vaguely for no reason. For the very same reason, Arya had handed the parchment back to his sister. The princess had naturally assured, it were fine to decline, but her disappointed look had spoken volumes.

And although Arya didn’t recall much of Septa Mordane’s lessons, it was enough to understand, she shouldn’t even think of anything like this. Just forget you ever saw it, she chided herself fretted. Yet, over supper she eventually still announced, she would retire early for the night, to draft some letters to her brothers. To then pace back and forth in her chamber all along until sunset. She shouldn’t go… Arya knew, her mother would skin her alive, if she ever found out. Though, where was the difference in searching the passageway alone or going with him? Which certainly were quicker, she argued with herself. Even safer, considering he was a knight. And a hell of a fighter… or leastwise so she had heard. And Arya just really wanted to find that passageway. But he was a grown man and she the maiden daughter of a great house… and nightfall simply never a good idea for that constellation. Why not, though? She could protect herself. And he was the future king. Sansa herself had said, she wasn’t to question his honour or imply he could have anything improper in mind. And at the end of the day, it was just a too good opportunity to waste.

Wherefore then moments later, Arya stepped into the vault with the dragon skulls nonetheless. To find him not only already waiting, but also the least bit surprised that she actually turned up. He leaned against the right fang of the Black Dread and stroked Balerion laying in his usual spot on his namesake’s jaw. “Why so late?” Arya demanded as she approached them, unable not to sound somehow annoyed.
“Good day to you too, my lady.” he chuckled and taunted promptly, “Should I’ve done this sooner?”
“No.” she growled, clenching her fists. “Maybe.” This was a bad idea. “No, I meant, why nightfall?” she corrected, feeling herself tense.
Which he clearly found amusing, “Perhaps it’s more fun after nightfall?” But thankfully his mischievous grin softened then, “I’ve something for you.” He pulled a black cloak out from behind himself.
“I’m not cold.”
“That’s good to know.” he chuckled anew, “For it’s actually meant to shield you from all the filth and the occasional sets of prying eyes down there.”
“And what about yourself?” Arya countered, suspecting he was only coddling her.

He clucked his tongue, “I’ve one, too.” and pushed himself away from the skull, to pull out another one.
“You know, if your note had said ‘P.S. Breeches and cloak stringently required’ I would’ve brought one myself.” she told him only halfway appeased.
“Well, I had a spare one…” he shrugged and mocked, “And I only mentioned the breeches to ensure you knew, this wouldn’t be some courtly stroll in the gardens.”
“I knew that. I’m not as dense as your silly geese up there.”
“No, that you’re not.” he teased on, “But I feared, you might come running down here right from supper.”

Getting more serious again, Gendry approached to meet her partway. “So, may I?” he offered to don her cloak onto her shoulders. And for some odd reason Arya actually let him. She turned wordlessly around and pulled her braid out of the way. Only to startle, when his hand accidentally brushed hers at it. Making her look up at him reflexively, bewildered at the sudden tingle under her skin where it had touched his. He held her gaze for a moment and remarked then quietly, “Fits perfect.”
“Thanks to your sister, I suspect.” Arya countered almost absent.
Which made him chuckle once again, “Damn, you caught me.” he swiftly pulled her hood up and put on his own cloak.

“Ready?” he challenged, his eyes glinting with mischief once more. He nodded at the door leading deeper down into the vaults, to insinuate her to follow him. “You should know, some of the way can be quite slippery. Hence I’d normally suggest, you take my hand, but I suppose you’d decline—”
“Damn right.” she confirmed amused.
“Fine, but I get to say ‘Told you so’ when I’m picking you off the ground.”
“Only, if I get to hit you when you do.” she warned smirking.
“Sounds like we have another deal.” he laughed and opened the door, leading her further down into the keep’s vaults.

Until in the lowest of them they came to a tunnel, barred by an iron gate. Gendry took the torch hanging at the wall to its left and produced a key out from behind the three-headed dragon ornamenting the iron torch holder there. Good to know…

Entering the tunnel, they soon after descended some indeed slippery steps down into a damp maze of passageway junctions. They went left and right and left and left and down some spiral staircase and through several more tunnels. “Where are all of them leading?” Arya questioned eventually, amazed at the sheer number of tunnels.
“Well, aren’t you a nosy one?” Gendry chuckled in front of her.
“I’m not nosy.” she hissed slightly outraged, even though she knew he was only taunting her again.
“But a curious one.” he turned around grinning.
“So?”
“Nothing. I like it.” he chuckled once more and continued in his way, “Perhaps, we should make nightly exploring something regular, huh?”

Before he then explained, originally the tunnels were mere escape routes and secret supply lines in case of a siege. Some few would reach to different essential places all over the city. While the greater part of the tunnels were simple red herrings for potential pursuers and invaders; they would lead nowhere, but to countless dead-ends and back to junctions with even more tunnels. However, in peace times the passageways would serve different purposes, providing some keep folks with other kind of goods.

“You mean whores?” Arya scoffed, rolling her eyes at the notion, “Is that why you know your ways around here?”
“I thought, you weren’t the nosy kind?” he countered laughing.
“I’m not.” she snapped offended, “It just seems the natural conclusion. You’re a man, men like whores—”
However, that made him turn around abruptly, looking dead serious of a sudden, “I don’t.”
“Why?” Arya thought aloud baffled, and regretted it immediately. “Um, I mean they’re nice women, are they not?” she added swiftly, seeing his countenance soften into a grin. Better to sound stupid than nosy again.
“They surely are,” he chuckled, clearly trying not to laugh at her, “but I don’t require their services.”
“Why that?” slipped out from Arya, before she knew. Causing him to smirk with absolute mischief, and herself to colour up to her ears. Damnit. “I’m not nosy.” she growled embarrassed, afore he could call her otherwise again.
“Just curious, I know.”
“Exactly.” she huffed stubborn, yet persisted once more, “So, why not?” Shut up, for the gods’ sake! her brain chided.

He sucked on his lower lip, to taunt then, “I recall my tutors telling me, not to discuss such matters with young maidens.”
“And I recall my septa telling me, not to meet alone with men, especially not after nightfall.” Arya countered somehow fretted.
“Yet, here you are…” he teased smirking.
“Because it’s rubbish!” Arya huffed, “Unlike Sansa, I can actually protect myself—” At which he burst into laughter. “I can!” she snapped offended.
“I believe you.” he tried to placate, still chuckling though. “Your famous Needle, I assume.” he nodded at her belt.
“Indeed.” she growled, and suddenly found herself grinning back at him. He remembered.
“Though, I hope we don’t need it tonight.” he appeased, before he turned back around, “We’re close to the exit now.”

Arya couldn’t tell for how long they had been in the tunnels. But it must have been nigh half an hour until they reached a narrow cave, barred by a second iron gate. Where Gendry then produced a key from an inconspicuous small hole in the wall to his right, to finally allow them to step out into the fresh air… Well, as fresh as air in a literal shithole could be. “It’s not as bad as it smells.” Gendry claimed chuckling, seeing Arya wrinkle her nose at the sudden stench now. “Err, no, actually it is. But there are some nice people here.” he corrected a moment later, while he put out the torch at the cavern entrance, to leave it behind in a gap under a rock.

The downtrodden area of Flea Bottom was a maze of twisty narrow alleys and over-leaning buildings. Arya could barely see the night sky when she looked up, wondering what it must be like to live in such filth and stench. Where not even the sun reached down to. She followed Gendry close behind and mirrored him, gripping his dagger’s hilt, in holding firmly on to Needle. Not out of fear though, but due to his warning, “Pickpockets in this part of the city steal anything, they can get hold of.”

Some of the alleys they passed seemed abandoned now, mainly those with pigsties and tanner’s sheds. Whereas those with brothels and alehouses were more than well-frequented at this late hour.

When they came to the first of them, Gendry pulled her closer. “In these alleys we’ve to be the most careful. Lots of folk from the keep here.” he whispered, prompting Arya to pull her hood deeper into her face. Yet, apparently that wasn't enough precaution, as Gendry extended his hand for her to take now. “This time it’s not up for discussion, I won’t lose you in this crowd.” he insisted and claimed, “It’s safer for both of us here, if people see, we’re not alone.” So, Arya placed her hand reluctantly in his, feeling her heart skip a beat once his enclosed around hers. “See, you didn’t drop dead from that.” he taunted chuckling, entirely unaware of her body’s odd reaction. And a small, still functioning part of her brain wanted to laugh at him for this remark. But the rest of her body felt completely stunned by his touch. Her hand tingled anew, only now it spread out through her entire body in alternating waves of warmth and cold.

Whilst Gendry manoeuvred them through the crowded alley, Arya tried to figure out what was happening to her. It felt strange, yet nice somehow. She couldn’t quite place it, nor the reason for it. He wasn’t the first man whose hand she held. She had held Mycah’s uncountable times – like when she had needed him to hurry up on her escapes from her lady mother and Septa Mordane. And Ned, Renly and Loras had all even kissed her hand at times. However, something like this had never occured before.

Gendry’s touch kept Arya distracted. He didn’t let go off her again when they reached quieter alleys with stables and tanner’s sheds once more. It was only in the next alley with drinking houses and whorehouses, where her instincts then abruptly sharpened her senses. They faced even bigger crowds than before – stinking of ale and sweat, vomit and piss and worse. And some of the drunkards there were unmistakably out for trouble. They deliberately bumped into folks passing by. Though, Gendry’s tall hooded figure seemed to clear the brawlers’ minds enough to discard them two as an easy target.

“Admit it, now you’re glad it’s not your own cloak.” Gendry teased, once they reached yet another less frequented alley.
“Damn, just why do I suddenly feel like sweeping along some nice pigsties walls?” Arya challenged, moving straightways towards them.
“Don’t you dare—” he growled playful, pulling her back by her hand.
“Watch me!” she tried to reach the filthy walls anew. But he pulled her right back again. More forceful this time, causing her to bump into him.
“Want to try again?” Gendry challenged roguish.
“Sure, knocking you over was the plan all along.” Arya taunted smug.
Making him guffaw, “If only you could…” He dragged her along towards Rhaenys’s Hill.

“I thought we’d stay in Flea Bottom?” Arya questioned a little while later.
“We will, don’t worry.” he placated winking, and stopped soon after outside a tavern. “Here we are! Though, I admit it’s the fancy part of Flea Bottom, and I hope you don’t mind.”
“We’re going to a tavern?” Arya asked incredulous. She had assumed, he would merely want to give her a quick tour, ere they returned to the keep.
“Only, if you want.” he looked somewhat sheepish now.
“I’m in!” she grinned stoked and pulled him towards the door, yet halted abrupt five steps later. Causing him to nearly bump into her then. “That is, if you brought some coins. For I didn’t.” She felt embarrassed, she hadn't thought of it, “You should’ve said, I needed copper—” At which Gendry unlaced the upper part of his doublet, to pull out a small jingling purse from underneath.
“Would that suffice, my lady?” he teased smirking and pulled her towards the entrance. “They serve great pies here, the best in the city, if you ask me. So, I hope you’re hungry.”

The muffled noises, they had heard from outside, increased to a loud and seemingly boozy buzz of voices once Gendry opened the door. Roaring laughter and shouting. Chuckling and chatting. Teasing and arguing. Accompanied by stamping and dancing. Running and scuffing. Clanking crockery and cutlery, and the creaking of wood and fire. And despite the slight scents of sweat and vomit lingering in the air here as well, the taproom smelled surprisingly nice. The dominant odours were that of fresh baked bread and pies, roasted meat and honey, ale and wine and herbs and spices. It caused Arya’s mouth to water instantly and her stomach to growl with anticipation. “You like it?” Gendry grinned, obviously enjoying that she hadn’t expected to find something like this – after all the shady places they had passed by on the way there.

They barely reached the counter though, when a slender man with matted blond curls stepped into their way. “Well, I’ll be damned…” he snorted, afore shouting back over his shoulders, “Hot Pie, move your arse out here and look what the cat dragged in!” Whereat a plump man with dark curls and flour all over himself hurried from the kitchen, to pull Gendry straightway into a hug.
“What the hells are you doing here tonight?” he inquired blithely, even though Gendry was now spotted with flour no less than him.
“We were kind of in the area.” Gendry stepped to the side, so the two innkeepers could see her, “Lommy, Hot Pie, this’s Arya, a dear friend of mine.”
“That’s no friend, you damn fool!” Hot Pie objected fervent, rolling his eyes. Which made Arya fear, he mistook her for a whore for a moment. But then the man burst out, “That’s a girlfriend!”
“And a real one this time.” Lommy added sniggering, “You’re improving, lad.”
“What?” Arya blurted thunderstruck.

“Don’t listen to them.” Gendry appeased, looking somewhat embarrassed now. “They just love mocking people.”
“People?” Lommy scoffed, raising his brows, “You’re not people, my simple-minded friend.” He gave Gendry a playful smack on the back of his head.
“Fine, they love mocking me.”
“That’s more like it. But it’s a real pleasure to meet you, Arya.” the blond man assured smirking.
“Indeed, pleasure to meet you. Though, you have our sympathies with this one…” Hot Pie nodded at Gendry. “Can you imagine, that bloody oaf and his Dornish belle told us for years, they were pickpocketing orphans?” the plump man snorted, “As though we were fucking soft in the head, and wouldn’t know what a real posh prince looks like?” Arya didn’t get it.
“They mean Ned.” Gendry explained, rolling his eyes at the innkeepers.
“Aye, that damn Dayne, prettier than most girls…” Lommy clicked his tongue.
“Present company excepted, of course.” Hot Pie winked at Arya.
The while Gendry went on, “When we were younger, I believe Ned was hardly eleven then, we stole away from the keep one day and stumbled across these two blighters. And smart-aleck as we were then, we told them we were runaway ploughboys. So, we could hang out with them sometimes, thinking they would never figure out who I was.”

“You should’ve seen his dumb face, once he lastly found out, we knew all along.” Lommy snorted, “I mean, come on, who'd fall for such a boloney?”
“She did.” Gendry burst into laughter, pointing his thumb at Arya.
“Hey, that doesn’t count!” she shoved him, causing him to laugh even more.
Whilst Hot Pie taunted, “Really? Girl, you’re letting us down here, big time—”
“Well, how should I’ve known what your southerners’ princelings look like, on my first day in town?” Arya snapped indignant.
“Princeling?” Gendry objected, arching his brows at her.
“Aye, princeling, it doesn’t count then.” Lommy came to her aid, smacking him once again.

“So, are you just here to show off, you finally found someone prettier than that Dornish fool now, or what made you actually drop in here today?” Hot Pie interrupted sniggering.
“Careful, lads, this one has a thing for our darling Lord Dayne—” Gendry mocked.
“No, I don’t.” Arya shoved him again.
“So, you brought your girlfriend’s girlfriend? Damn, you’re a real charmer…” Lommy snorted with laughter at his own joke, despite Arya’s furious objections. Or at least he did so until she kicked him in the shin, causing Gendry to let out a guffaw.
“I’m nobody’s fucking girlfriend!” Arya huffed, watching satisfied how the innkeeper rubbed his leg now.
“Oh, sorry, Lom. Should I’ve mentioned, she has a quick temper?” Gendry teased still chuckling, before he turned to the no less amused Hot Pie, “We’re here for the pies and your superb company, of course.”

“Well, in that case, follow me.” Hot Pie waddled to a booth in a corner, where a man and a woman seemed entwined in more than a tight embrace. “You two, get yourselves a room! And do so elsewhere, this’s a respectable establishment.” he shooed them away, so the four of them could sit there. And over ale and indeed delicious pie, Arya got to hear how a prince and a young lordling befriended a dyer’s apprentice and a baker’s boy from Flea Bottom. Until eventually they had lent their commoner friends the silver to purchase a tavern right below the Street of Flour. Which then, thanks to Hot Pie’s evident talents in the kitchen and Lommy’s entertaining big mouth, soon turned into Flea Bottom’s secret gem.

It was hilarious with the two innkeepers, who seemingly lacked any respect of the future king – making fun of him and calling him a moron as if it were nothing. And how Gendry claimed, the two would only call him all these names now to cover up, they hadn’t had a clue who he was for at least three years. Whereas Hot Pie insisted, their version were actually the truth, them knowing all along. “Aye, as true as your story about that battle you once witnessed,” Gendry challenged, “right outside an alehouse here in Flea Bottom.”
“Oh, you really want to hear that one, Arya. It’s fucking mind-blowing.” Lommy mocked guffawing.
“Oh, yeah?” Hot Pie shot back livid, “And how about you tell her, you blind dickhead actually thought Ned was a girl? Until the very day you saw him pull out his cock and take a piss.” Resulting in him and Lommy bickering and ranting like an old married couple. In the meanwhile Gendry told Arya, his two friends would soon wed the feistiest twin sisters in the city.
“Can you imagine the quarrelling, then?” he snorted, as the two innkeepers fully locked horns. Causing him and Arya to double up with laughter, and for time to fly away quite literal at the tavern.

Consequently, it was almost two hours past midnight, when Gendry and Arya eventually stepped back out onto the alleys; with him already holding her hand again. To prevent her from falling in her tipsy state, he argued. Which naturally didn’t keep Arya from blaming the late hour and the stench in Flea Bottom for her slight dizziness, rather than all the ale she had had. She even suggested another race, all the way back to the Tower of the Hand, to prove she wasn’t drunk at all. “You want me to run myself into the ground, a mere fortnight afore the tourney?” Gendry evaded laughing.
“It’s a stupid tournament, anyway.” Arya countered, not really japing.
“Why that?” he blinked surprised.
“It’s a men only thing. So it’s stupid, just like women only things.” she huffed fretted, “Nothing I need to attend…”

“Huh, and there I thought you’ be eager to beat the likes of Littlefinger.” Gendry remarked unconvinced.
“What do you mean?” Arya looked up at him puzzled.
“Well, women aren’t exactly excluded from the bets.” he explained, “Most ladies just don’t do it. They deem it unladylike, unless they bet on the contestant they fancy.”
“I’m not ‘most ladies’.” Arya told him at once.
“My point, precisely.” Gendry winked at her, “These pretty fools all wonder why they can’t get anywhere with their wagers, they don’t understand a thing about what they’re betting on. Unlike you, with your quick wit and expertise in swordsmanship and riding, you could make quite a fortune over this tourney.”
“You forgot my expertise in archery.” Arya huffed, already considering his proposal.
“See, you’ve all the skills you need to empty everyone else’s pockets.” Gendry nudged her shoulder softly.
“But if I beat you, princeling, we’re doing this race here.” she declared, brimming with confidence, “Right after the tourney.”
“Right after the tourney? Sounds a little unfair. Just think of all the bruises I’ll have, then.” he dodged again.
Causing her to roll her eyes at him, “Do you ever run out of excuses?”
“No, do you?” he chuckled waggish.
“Never.” she growled smirking.

They walked the rest of the way through Flea Bottom in silence. It was no awkward quiet, though. A nice silence, Arya liked it. Just as holding his hand, she liked that too. So, once he let go of hers, to re-light the torch and unlock the iron gate at the cavern, she quickly offered him her hand to take again; as soon as the key was back in its cranny. Just to see, if he’d refuse, she told herself then.

But he didn’t, Gendry chuckled amused and took it nonetheless. To even hold on to it on the spiral staircase, although that made ascending a bit trickier for both of them. He kept her hand in his, all the way back to the first iron gate. Where he let go off her again, until he had returned their torch to its holder and locked this gate as well. Then, he forthwith grasped her hand once more, causing Arya to chuckle now in return.

However, when they didn’t return to the dragon skulls, her instincts raised the alarm, “Where are we going?”
“You to your bed, and I to mine.” Gendry placated amused, “Though, I can hardly return you to the front entrance now, can I?” Shit! She hadn’t thought of that, Arya realised with a start. When she had slipped out during change of guard, she had assumed, he would merely show her the passageway – allowing her to excuse herself with a late visit at the stables to the new guards outside the Tower of the Hand then. Fuck, what if her father and mother had gone to check on her, before they retired for the night? That thought sobered Arya up at once. Beseeching the old gods and the new that her absence had remained unnoticed, she followed Gendry to a beheaded dragon statue in one of the lower vaults. Where behind in the shadows, a hidden door turned out the entrance to another passageway.

Inside the narrow hallway, Gendry lit a small oil lantern that had waited for them behind the secret door. Afore they both took off their cloaks then. “I’ll take care of them afterwards.” Gendry assured, taking Arya’s hand once more. To lead her via three junctions to another iron gate, barring the entry to a small chamber. Where he once more retrieved a hidden key, now out from under a loose floor tile by the brick wall. “We’ve to be quiet here, we’re right below the servant quarters beneath the Tower of the Hand now.” Gendry whispered, nodding at the wooden ladder leading upwards on one of the walls, to a hole in the ceiling. “I assume, you reside on the second storey from the top?”
“Is there a hidden door in my chamber as well?” Arya questioned, her eyes glinting with excitement at the notion.
“I see, you’d like that…” he chuckled, yet crushed her hopes. “I’m afraid there’s no such thing, my lady. I can either get you in two storeys below or through the hearth in the lord’s chamber on the top floor. But I guess that’s no option at this late hour.”

They climbed up the rungs to an even pokier room above, containing nothing else but another ladder reaching up to a hole in the ceiling there. After passing four more identically dimensioned rooms, they lastly came to one with a small wooden door, in addition to yet another ladder leading further upwards. “This is it. We’re behind the wall-hanging across your father’s solar now.” Gendry whispered there.
“How do you know all this?” Arya breathed amazed.
“I was born here, remember?” he japed in a whisper, “Or how do you think I escaped all the lunacy and sycophants for so long?”
“Or Margaery?” she teased grinning.
“You’ve no idea…” he chuckled quietly.

For a moment, they simply smiled at one another. Before he abruptly averted his gaze, turning his attention to the secret door. “Sounds awfully silent out there, almost as though we actually got away with our little adventure tonight, huh?” Hopefully, Arya thought quite relieved on one hand, and still unwilling to see this night come to an end just yet.
“Gendry?” she whispered, before she even knew what to say to him.
“Mm?” he breathed, his right ear already at the door boards. Obviously ready to get rid of her, Arya inferred somewhat disappointed.
“This was fun.” she told him, stepping in front of him.
“It was, Arya.” he assured, smiling down at her once more. Yet, eventually he even closed his eyes, to focus entirely on the door. Waiting for the patrolling guards on the other side to descend to the lower storeys.

Until they both were certain, there was no one on the upper stairs anymore. Deeming it safe for Gendry to carefully open the door and lifting the wall-hanging for Arya to slip through, then. To swiftly sneak back to her chamber. Where she for good concluded, no one had noticed her absence that night. Yes!

Chapter Text

With the tourney in celebration of King Robert lying only a fortnight ahead, the men at court were busy practising and preparing themselves. Including Ned Dayne and Loras Tyrell, whom now no longer had time to invite Arya to activities outside the palace. She could even count herself lucky, if they found a spare moment for a short walk in the gardens every once while.

Of her false suitors, only Renly had decided not to participate in the competitions. At twenty-nine he considered himself now ready to emulate his elder brother, to enjoy the spectacles from the sidelines, he had told Arya on their last sailing trip with Loras. Though, rumours claimed, the stormlord simply had enough of being sneered at by the king – simply because his lookalike nephew and the Knight of Flowers outshone him in the arena. Which Arya deemed, quite rich, coming from someone too fat to glimpse their own toes.

However, Renly’s retreat from the contests didn’t mean he had now plenty of time or reason to entertain Arya until after the tourney. Rather the opposite, he had absolutely nothing to gain from such.

Leaving only the princess as a last straw for Arya to keep her sanity. With Trystane, Gendry and even Tommen competing in the tourney as well, Myrcella found herself as confined to the keep as her northern friend. Yet, unlike Arya, the princess didn’t feel like a caged animal there. She didn’t freak out at the prospect of spending two whole sennights with females only activities. A year in the seventh hell sounded like a picnic compared to that, Arya thought sullen already on the first morning.

To be proved right mere two hours later. When Arya came to realise, the activities with the other ladies-in-waiting were now even worse than usual. The women prepared just as eagerly for the tourney as the men, in their own absolutely idiotic way. They also tried to get into shape. Only in their case, it meant mostly losing or gaining weight, to present themselves as pretty as possible during the days at the arena and throughout the vespertine festivities afterwards. Some ladies, such as Margaery, Sansa and Myrcella, had even planned well in advance. They were determined to amaze each tourney day in more exquisite gowns. They had all gone barking mad. Madder than mad.

Arya had never seen so many women attend courtly needlework sessions before. It seemed, every highborn maiden in the Seven Kingdoms spent now half her days sewing and embroidering fancy dresses there. Apart from Arya. She did only some crooked stitches on a velvet cloth for appearance’s sake, and even that only when Lady Catelyn was present. That damn hawk of a mother. Usually, she just sat there scowling and listened peeved to the other ladies’ exited chatter. Or maybe this was seventh hell? Specially tailored to torture Arya Stark.

She truly hadn’t thought it possible, but the other court ladies actually managed to become even more fixated on their marriage prospects than before. The girls and women around her just couldn’t stop telling one another over and over again, which knight or lordling they fancied. How handsome and valiant they thought him, and how badly they hoped, he would reciprocate their feelings. And of course they all dreamt, the twerp would crown them Queen of Love and Beauty. Arya could barely refrain from constantly scoffing and snarling at everyone. And just what in all fucking seven hells made them think, she wanted to be included in this lunacy?

Arya knew, anyone with eyes in their heads could see, she didn’t want to be there. Yet, still these batty fools couldn’t help involving her in their conversations. Like asking her giggly, which betrothals she believed this tourney would spark. As though she cared!

Before shortly thereafter stupid remarks and questions about her and Ned followed, fuelled by no less than Sansa and Margaery and her dunderhead vultures. Within moments everyone in the room, other than Myrcella, was convinced, the Lord of Starfall would ask for her hand in marriage after the tournament. Gods, what did she do to deserve this? Arya objected of course fuming, explaining she and Ned were just friends. But the other women only laughed at her. Insisting, if Ned Dayne were to come off the tourney victor, he wouldn’t crown anyone else but her his Queen of Love and Beauty – and that were as good as proposing.

Arya would have darted from the room at that, had Catelyn Tully’s silent glare not nailed her to her chair then. “Don’t listen to them, they’re just over-excited.” Myrcella whispered next to her, “Before tournaments they all get their hopes up, but to find them crushed again afterwards.” Only, that was of little comfort to Arya. She just couldn’t escape these fools and their ridiculousness.

Usually, the men sparred and practised their archery without an audience. The ones actually any good early in the mornings, when the women still bathed and dressed. And the squires and the rest of the men later in the day, when the females typically attended embroidery and reading sessions. Wherefore court ladies normally never got see any sparring. It wasn’t considered appropriate. Usually. Since now, only days ahead of the royal tournament, it suddenly wasn’t improper anymore. Arya understood, it helped the men accustoming themselves to an audience. But she absolutely didn’t get, what was in it for the women. Why did they make such a fuss about it?

At first, Arya even looked forward to finally watch some sparring at the Red Keep. She had always wondered, whether and which of these southerners lived up to their reputation. But she also thought it a great opportunity to prepare for the betting; to assess at least the contestants at court beforehand the melee. However, she came to realise rapidly, focusing on the fighters in the practice yard wasn’t exactly easy, when surrounded by shallow-brained ninnies that constantly tried to engage her into conversation.

And to make things even worse, she had to face these numb nuts alone. The queen forbid Myrcella to join the other ladies on the terrace above the training yard. Beguiling sweaty, grunting men were beneath a princess, Myrcella had unhappily explained after needlework. They so definitively needed to swap their mothers.

Thus, before long Arya found herself sitting on the balustrade in a certainly unladylike fashion – sullenly hugging her knees. To Sansa’s great dismay, of course. But Arya didn’t care, her sister was outraged. She was outraged! By the sheer ignorance surrounding her on the terrace. The other women downright failed to see, what she saw in the training yard. Who was skilled. Who had talent. And who potential. Who moved smooth. Who was quickest. And who strongest. Who fought only with brute force. Who fought smart and with strategy, luring his opponent into making mistakes. Or who probably still held back.

However, what frustrated Arya the most, was the fact that she couldn’t be down there herself. She longed to spar with the men, to finally practise with a real opponent again. But instead, she was stuck with the morons on a stupid terrace. As though it were some bloody island, she had stranded on and couldn’t get off again.

The other women only saw handsome faces, they wanted to kiss. Strong arms, they wanted to fall into. And brave protectors, ready to slay a giant for them if necessary. Arya needed none of those. Should a giant stupidly decide to steal her, then she’d just slay him herself, she thought fretted.

But the women had already found themselves a new talking point, they could say nonsense about. Armour, out of all. Unbelievable. For them, it was naturally all about the fanciness and shininess. The more excessive and shinier, the better they thought it were. Fancy ornamented mirrors, Gendry’s voice mocked in her mind, conjuring at last a small smile on her face.

His practice armour was indeed one of the plainest. Wherefore unsurprisingly the numb nuts called it a great pity that he wouldn't wear armour according his degree. Blind fools. He did! His was the finest armour in the yard, the blows hitting him had nigh no impact. It fit him so neatly, it almost seemed a part of him. Arya had never seen anything the like. His armour nearly even distracted her from assessing his and Ned’s fighting skills, when the two of them sparred.

Nonetheless, her smile and concentration didn’t last much longer. The idiocy around her was just too much to bear. How was she ever supposed to predict the outcomes like this? When the stupid cows behind her continued to annoy her with silly remarks and even sillier questions. Until eventually Arya had enough. “Shut up!” she burst out, “Or go for a walk. I’m trying to learn something here.”
“Arya!” Sansa scolded at once.
“What? You all stand here, blaring witless things… you don’t understand the first thing about fighting—” Arya snapped livid.
“But the She-wolf of course does?” one of the vultures sneered dismissively.
“Indeed.” Arya hopped off the balustrade and charged at the woman, who was a full head taller than her. “Want to find out?” she challenged glaring, “Go on! Fight me yourself, or choose a champion down there.” Which made the other ladies take a few steps back reflexively.
“Stop it, you’re embarrassing us—” Sansa pulled her away at once.
“You mean, I’m embarrassing you? I’m not embarrassed by the fact that I’m a better fighter than least half the men down there.” Arya shouted before she stormed off, trembling with fury.

However, on the steps that also led down into the practice yard, she realised of a sudden, the men had heard her as well. Bloody fantastic, back to being the keep freak… Feeling all eyes on her now, Arya bit her lower lip and slumped down where she stood, to pull her knees to her chest once more. Whilst below in the yard, Gendry and Ned exchanged a few words. Afore the prince called for the sparring to resume, whereas Ned climbed up the stairs.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” the Dornishman questioned, plonking himself clankingly down on the step beside her.
“I couldn’t focus on the sparring, with all these morons blathering total nonsense next to me.” Arya growled, “You know, like you standing no chance against Gendry, just because he’s bigger.”
“So, you felt the need to defend my honour?” Ned chuckled next to her.
“No, I know you can best him. You’re quicker.” she assured, feeling herself calm down now.
“My lady, are you implying, you’re going to keep your fingers crossed for me in the arena?” he teased, cocking his head at her.
“Ned, don’t be silly.” Arya rolled her eyes, “You know, I’m not superstitious. But if you keep beating him, my bet’s on you. That’s what I’m implying.”
“Maybe even as tourney champion?” he studied her curiously.
“Why not?” Arya shrugged, “Even father says, you’re likely the next Sword of the Morning. And you’re a decent rider—”
“Decent?” he objected, playing the outraged, “I’d say I’m far more than that—”
“Hello, compared to me.” Arya burst into laughter.
“Hello, we’re talking normal people here, no northern half-horse-she-wolfs.” he countered and nudged her shoulder carefully with his iron-clad one, prompting her to double up with laughter.

“Dayne, get your pretty face down here again!” Gendry called of a sudden, causing Ned to roll his eyes somehow annoyed.
“You’ll be alright?” he asked concerned, without even deigning to look at their friend in the yard.
“Sure, mother’s tirade can’t be much worse than the last one.”
“We could go for a stroll, if you want?” the Dornishman suggested unconvinced.
“Now?” Arya snorted unbelieving.
“I just need to get out of all this metal, and we’re off here.”
“Ned, sometime before nightfall would be nice.” Gendry called again, locking eyes with Arya at it.
“Um, thanks, but I think I’m fine now.” she burst out prompt. “And you certainly need some more practise, if you want me to place my fortunes on you.”
“Well, in that case I’ll do my very best to knock that thickhead out now.” Ned chuckled and got up to return to his task in the yard.

Leaving Arya to watch the rest of the sparring from the stairs then. Halfway out of earshot from the other women’s chatter on the terrace, yet not out sight for the disdainful looks that some of the ladies cast her still.

And definitively not out reach for another haranguing. Word of Arya’s public tantrum reached her mother’s ear, even before Sansa got to moan about it on their return to the Tower of the Hand. Wherefore Catelyn Tully’s tirade that evening surely would have continued for another hour, hadn’t Jory suddenly interrupted them in the middle of it. “Forgive me, my lord and ladies, but this message just came from the prince.” the commander of their household guard handed the parchment scroll to Lord Stark and excused himself swiftly from the private dining hall.

Eddard Stark looked someways surprised at the scroll, before he broke its seal to read it. “What is it?” Lady Catelyn inquired impatient, but her husband simply handed her the scroll. “Oh, Arya!” Lady Stark exclaimed a mere instant later.
“What?” Arya knit her brows confused.
“I believe you have another suitor.” Catelyn Tully announced with absolute delight, regardless that it drained all colour from both her daughters’ faces. As Arya found her own shock mirrored on Sansa’s countenance now. No. Please, no…
“This can’t be—” her sister whispered wide-eyed. Indeed, it can’t!

“Oh, don’t be silly, Sansa. It’s from Tommen.” their lady mother countered bald, “He’s inviting your sister to a short ride in the morning. Apparently, she advised him in commissioning his new armour, and hence he wants her to be the first one to see it.” Wait, what— Hells, thank the gods… Arya once again saw her own feelings displayed on her sister’s face. Whereas their mother’s chest swelled with pride, “Ned, isn’t this absolutely wonderful? Both our girls caught the eye of a prince.” Thankfully not.
“Tommen’s not even fifteen. This means nothing, Cat.” Eddard Stark tried to curb his wife’s enthusiasm, “Just think of all the girls Robb fancied at that age.” Let alone all the nincompoops Sansa fancied back then.

Once again, Arya was grateful for her father’s stubborn intervention. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help smiling and blushing at the prospect of seeing Gendry at the smithy again. What could he possibly want, to suddenly invite her there? she wondered for the rest of the evening. Even abed, after she had retired for the night.

Yet, the answer to her question, she only got at Mott’s shop come morning. After a brief exchange of pleasantries with the master armourer at the shop room, Arya followed the servant girl once again into the stone barn. Only, this time it wasn’t the familiarity of the place that drew her in. Arya felt her heart beat quicken with every step she took. To once again skip a beat at the sight of his back, regardless that he wore a shirt under his apron now.

He turned around smiling this time, when Elinor called him. He really had a nice smile. Though, naturally he couldn’t refrain from mocking her with a bow then, “My lady, I’m glad you could make it.”
“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” Arya growled, trying to keep her own growing smile in check, “Or do you think my mother would let me decline a prince’s invitation?”
“I was counting on that.” he told her unapologetic and nodded at the stool, which was already covered with a clean cloth.
“Was that here all along?” Arya chuckled.
“Of course, waiting longingly for you to return.” Gendry taunted grinning, “But since you never did, Cloth, Stool and I came up with this little scheme to lure you back in.”
“That’s why I’m here? To keep them two warm in this fucking cold?” Arya mocked, “And there I thought, you wanted to give it another try to have your ears chewed off over work?”
“Well, who better to chew them off but a wolf?”
“Err, I think we both know quite a few silly geese and even a certain snake that would do the job much better than me.”
“Only, if I wanted my ears picked off or getting swallowed whole.” he disagreed amused, “No, no, my lady, it needs a wolf to get this chewing job done properly. A particularly feisty little chewer, I might add.”
“Fine, and about what would you have yours ears chewed off this time?” she snorted with laughter.

“Hm, I think first of all I’d like to know to which half I should count myself.”
“Huh?” Arya didn’t follow, “What do you mean?”
“Well, you said something about you being better than half of us in the yard, the other day.” he winked at her roguish.
“Oh, that…” she murmured embarrassed.
“So, to which half do you count me, Lady Arya?” he persisted amused.
“Um, to both, I think.” she let on reluctant.
“I fear, that's not how figures work.” he let out a guffaw.
“Yes, it is!” Arya huffed, feeling almost offended. “I could beat you. Perhaps not all the time, but I could.” Causing him to burst with laughter. “It’s true!” she snapped, “Probably even the first time. Since I know now exactly how you fight, leaving the element of surprise with me.” But he only guffawed more, enraging her for good. Until an instant later, an iron bar pointed at his throat. “I’m small, but I’m quick. And far quicker than you, you stupid bull-headed prince.” she snarled livid. Yet, again he only snorted with laughter, unnerving her. “Why are you laughing at me? You’re dead, and you didn’t even see it coming—”

“My lady, rest assured, I’m not laughing at you. Nor do I doubt your swordsmanship.” he tried to placate, although he still chuckled, “And especially not now that I’m dead.”
“Then why are you laughing?” she demanded outraged.
“Because your undeniable logic just keeps astonishing me.”
“You’re lying?” she studied him, unsure if he meant it.
“No, I’d never laugh at you, Arya. Never.” he suddenly sounded serious. For a moment, they studied one another in quiet at that. Until he lastly took the iron bar away, enclosing his hand around hers to make her let go.
“So, you just wanted to know, if I could best you? That’s why I’m here?” Arya questioned, trying to get her fluttering lashes under control.
“No, actually I’ve a bone to pick with my lady.” he got more serious again.
“About what?” Arya cocked her brow amused.
“About that bug you put in Ned’s ear.”
“What bug?” she chuckled puzzled.

“The one that makes him think, he could beat me—” he arched his brow now, looking quite serious still.
“Well, he could!” Arya countered prompt.
“Only if I let him, my lady.” Gendry sounded even peeved of a sudden.
“Bollocks, he’s quicker than you. Not as quick as me, but quick enough—”
“So, you want him to best me?” he studied her closely, “Even win the whole thing?”
“I never said that!” Arya suddenly felt backed into a corner, “Only that he could. And that, if he keeps beating you, I would wager on him. That’s all I said.”
“So, you’re not supporting him in the tournament?” Gendry questioned, not fully convinced.
“I’m not supporting anyone.” she huffed, before she realised that probably sounded rude. “Um, I mean I’d be happy for him if he wins, after all we’re friends. But I don’t mind if someone else succeeds. You or Loras or maybe Ser Barristan… Selmy actually would be terrific—”
Causing Gendry to snort with laughter once more, “So, my lady fancies the oldest bloke in the tourney?”
“That man’s a legend!” Arya countered slightly outraged, “Unlike you little saplings, he’s actually seen battle. And more of it than any other man still walking this earth.”
“True, and somehow we all envy him for that.” Gendry placated chuckling, “But I can hardly start a war just to change that, can I?”
“Don’t worry, the next Greyjoy Rebellion’s coming.” Arya japed now grinning again.
“Probably sooner than we like.”
“You bet.”

“Bet on what?” Tommen suddenly stood behind them. He wore his shining new armour of mainly black tinted steel, embellished with some golden stag ornaments.
“I thought, we agreed on the non-showy part?” Gendry teased, ruffling his sibling’s hair.
“You think it’s too much?” the youngling questioned rattled.
“I’m just taunting you. You look great.”
“Like a king, Lady Arya?” Tommen turned expectantly to her.
“Absolutely, Your Grace. Like a true king.” she assured, watching a broad grin build on the lad’s face.
“I see, my lady didn’t just put a bug in Ned’s ear?” Gendry arched his brow at both of them.
“Well, you’re going to need an heir before long.” Tommen retorted tongue-in-cheek.
“Well, how about you take my lady back to the keep now, so she can watch us settle that line of succession in the practice yard later?” Gendry challenged amused.
“I accept.” Tommen smirked unafraid, before telling Arya, “Just give me a moment to get out of this, my lady. I’ll be right back.”

“So, you see a king in my brother now?” Gendry turned back to her, cocking his brow once more.
“Of course, look at him!” Arya taunted unapologetic, “If that’s not a king, then I don’t know what is.”
However, he only chuckled briefly at that, inquiring more serious again, “And what do you see in me?”
“Um, isn’t that obvious?” she teased on, nodding at his attire, “Looks like a blacksmith to me—”
“Just you wait, my lady.” he teased back, grinning now all roguish again, “You’ll be gaping in awe at the arena.”
“And swoon over you like a pea-brained fool, I presume?” Arya mocked laughing.
“Oh, yeah, definitively that.” he jested.
“Keep on dreaming, blacksmith.”
“I will.” Gendry promised tongue-in-cheek.

They kept teasing one another until Tommen returned, calling, “My lady, are you ready to return to the palace?” No, never, Arya thought sullen, when she got up from her seat to meet the young prince partway. Only, Gendry caught her wrist then, stopping her in her track.
“You might want to look behind a certain wall-hanging at times, preferably after nightfall.” he whispered to her.
“What for?”
“There’s a message waiting for you since last night.” He bent further down to her and let his hand slip into hers, causing her heart to flip at the sensation. His face was so close, Arya realised, waiting for him to speak on. But instead, he only swallowed and gently squeezed her hand, before he let go, “Goodbye, little wolf.”

Leaving Arya quite as stunned as on the way to the tavern three nights ago. And it seemed to get worse now. On the ride back to the keep, Tommen’s enthusiasm about the tourney kept her leastwise somewhat distracted from recalling her latest memories of his brother again and again. Whereas then throughout needlework, her absentmindedness even came in handy. Pondering over him all the time, made it now incredibly easy to block the ninnies around her out.

However, over watching the men’s sparring again in the afternoon, Arya’s teeth were soon set on edge. Intent to focus entirely on the men then, she once more took her seat on the steps above the training yard. Out of earshot from all the nonsense being said on the terrace again, yet not out of reach for his astonishing blue eyes. Which just wouldn’t fade away anymore ahead of her mind’s eye. And when it wasn’t his eyes that snuck over and over into her thoughts, it was his beautiful smile. Or his touch, making her entire skin tingle. Or she kept wondering about the message, he had left her at the hidden door.

It was so unnerving, Arya found herself scowling at him before long. Though, naturally that didn’t solve anything either. His eyes, his smile, his touch and anew note just kept haunting her.

Until of a sudden, she knew what to do. If that stupid princeling just wouldn’t stop tormenting her, she had to make him. With sheer and brute force. She just had to kill him. Arya snuck away, as soon as she saw a chance for it. Which interestingly then he provided, in his brief address of the other ladies-in-waiting on the terrace.

Weighing the odds of running into her mother on her way to and from her bedchamber against getting seen sneaking down to the vaults in her fancy gown, Arya decided to rather take her chances with Catelyn Tully – in hope to maybe use the passageway on her way back out of the Tower of the Hand. However, she only got lucky in avoiding her lady mother. Since unfortunately, her father audited their household’s books with Vayon Poole just then, with Harwin standing guard outside the solar. Damn, Arya thought frustrated and hurried to her chamber, to change swiftly out of her linen dress into her practice attire. Only moments later, she slipped out of the tower again and excused herself to the guards outside with a visit to the stables.

Though, ultimately Arya decided against a flying visit to her stallion’s bay – the royal stables were just another spot her mind connected to him. So, instead she dashed straightway down to her practice vault with the old Targaryen furniture inside, to spend the following hours killing him there. It was surprisingly easy to imagine that stupid bull-headed as her heavily armed and well-armoured opponent now. And she didn’t stop battling him until he was dead at least two dozen times. Before Arya then lastly allowed herself to drop to the cold stone floor. Exhausted and soaked with sweat as she was, she soon after drifted off to sleep.

Only to open her eyes again then to him leaning over her, “Arya, wake up, you’re freezing cold.” he shook her by the shoulder.
“No, I’m not.” she snapped, before she was even fully awake.
“And what’s this?” he grabbed her left arm, showing her her own goose bumps. “Or do you think this old bugger here performs as cuddly toy for no reason?” Balerion? Arya noticed only then, she had curled up around the purring tom. “Maybe he just likes me better than you?” she scoffed and sat up, much to the cat’s dismay.
“Oh, I’m sure he does.” Gendry chuckled amused.
“What’re you doing here, anyway?” Arya inquired drowsily.
“Tracking down a wild northern lady gone missing once again, obviously.”
“I didn’t go missing. Not then, nor now.”
“I know. But it’s near nightfall, and this time your folks are actually worried. So, let’s not go over the full round like last time, and just get you to bed now, alright?” he placated and pulled her along himself to their feet, to slide his fingers in-between hers then.

“Wait, Needle.” Arya wrenched her hand free and scooped her sword up from the ground. Sheathing it in its scabbard on her belt, she swiftly climbed zigzagways over the piles of furniture, all the way to the vault’s rear wall to her stash there – a plain old wine cask with a loose lid, containing mainly dragon-ornated tin plates, cups and cutlery aside from her treasured valuables. Once she had Needle safely stored away, she turned back around to find Gendry with folded arms and compressed lips, evidently fighting back a laugh at her. “What?” she hissed, arching her brow.
“Nothing.” he chuckled, “I just always wondered, where in this mess you had your hoard.”
“Well, now you know.” she growled, taking a different zigzag route on her way back off the furniture heaps, to hop then down from the ramshackle remains of a pompously embellished bedstead right in front of him.

“I suppose, tonight I can’t expect any invitations of your siblings to spare me the haranguing?” she huffed in frustration over what she knew awaited her back at the Hand’s Tower now.
“Um, for aught I know not.” he looked honestly apologetic. “But I’ve got this for you. Maybe it helps to put things a little more in perspective.” he handed her a small scroll of parchment.
“What is it?” she blinked at the scroll in her palm.
“Well, I kind of heard of your disappearance over delivering this.” he handed her another one, “I didn’t want to leave them there, with everyone looking for you.”
“So, that’s why you’re down here?” Arya snorted amused, “To get the loose wolf back into her kennel, before someone gets ideas of looking behind wall-hangings.”
“Of course, I can’t have all and sundry wandering around in my passageways.” he countered tongue-in-cheek.

“Your passageways?” Arya arched her brows at him once more, the while they walked from her practice vault.
“Fine, both our passageways, if you insist—” he larked about, rolling his eyes.
“I meant your father, stupid.” Arya snorted, “Last I checked, he still owned this useless pile of bricks, you call a keep.”
“Only the upstairs and outside parts.” Gendry japed on, “Everything below ground and inside the walls is long mine. Won by conquest, inch by inch, way back when I was about your height.”
“With him holding it for you ever since, I suppose?” Arya chuckled, nodding at Balerion leading their way now.
“Best gatekeeper there is… or at least he was, until you weaselled right past his guard.” Gendry confirmed grinning, teasing, “Though, considering how you put those poor Stark guardsmen to shame on a nearly daily basis, I probably shouldn’t hold that against him, huh?” Before he then bid her goodnight, calling the tomcat to stay behind with him, whilst Arya walked the rest of the way back to the Tower of the Hand alone.

Where, as predicted, she was welcomed by another round of chiding. “We can hardly expect another invitation from Prince Tommen after this now.” Catelyn Tully vented her anger, “So, you better pray, Lord Dayne’s already too smitten with you, to care where you prowl around at twilight, young lady. Or how much longer do you think, the people here are willing to excuse your escapades as childish rebellion? Before they start rumours about you of a far worse nature?”
Even her lord father agreed, pleading with her, “You need to be more careful, child. This isn’t Winterfell.” Which was exactly the problem.

But Arya’s objections, that she would go nuts from being around the other ladies all day long, didn’t matter. Worse even, her lady mother told her, to better get used to spending her days like that. Since after the tournament, the both of them would spend every spare moment with these women; to ensure, Arya no longer found opportunities for such follies as today. Lady Catelyn even announced, she would personally chaperone her with her suitors from then on, “Should there still be any left, then.” Hells, no! Now she’d really be a wolf in a gilded cage… and all because of that stupid pretty princeling.

Arya fumed, when she lastly was allowed to retire to her chamber to bathe. Banging her door behind herself, she threw her boots forcefully against the wall, which she imagined was the face of a certain blue-eyed idiot. That stupid bull-headed prince. However, once she picked her footwear up, to throw them right again in her frustration, the two small scrolls at her feet caught her eye. Over her mother’s anew haranguing, she had completely forgotten about them, that she had stashed them away in her boots. Bloody princeling.

However, hearing the chatty maids approach then, left Arya not much of a choice but to snatch the parchments speedily off the ground, before her chamber door swung open. Causing her to instinctively spin away towards the hearth, as the servant girls hurried to her window, to the pulley right outside of it. She should just throw the notes into the fire, Arya thought. Yet, something kept her from doing so, begging her to leastwise read them first. Stupid, stupid, stupid prince, she cursed inwardly and clenched both her fists around his scrolls, whilst the maids hoisted up the water buckets being brought into the yard below.

But even after she had dismissed them again, Arya didn’t dare to unroll the parchments and hid them under her pillow; to then spend her entire time in the bathtub staring at it. One moment mad at him, and then again curiously biting her lip, wondering what he might have written her.

Only, when she was absolutely certain, apart from the guards, everyone else in the tower was abed, she lastly found the courage to unroll the first parchment – or rather, curiosity finally won the upper hand, getting her to read the first one. “Where did you steal away to? I was trying to prove, I can be quick too.” it read, forcing Arya to put her palm over her mouth to not get the giggles.

It took her a moment to calm down and stop quietly chuckling to herself. Before she also unrolled the second message, which left her speechless, “Do not ever let them change you. You are special. They are not.” Utterly stunned, Arya felt the heat rush to her cheeks, causing her ear to buzz for what felt like an eternity. What was happening to her? It was just stupid words… Clearly only meant to comfort her, after what had happened the day before. Yet, somehow she couldn’t stop reading them over and over again, smiling widely at it. Do not ever let them change you. You are special. They are not.

Chapter Text

After reading his messages, it had been impossible for Arya to fall asleep. Although, her bones and muscles had craved a good night’s rest, her mind had been wide awake and kept revolving around him for hours. Thus, her smile had eventually turned into a frown, the longer she had lain awake. What was happening with her? What was he doing to her? Until of a sudden her sister’s words had come to her mind, You happily grinned like a fool.

She had gulped in shock at that, and her head had started swimming. No! With lightning speed, Arya had been out of bed and had thrown both scrolls into the dying embers in the hearth. Do not ever let them change you. You are special. They are not, his voice had whispered in her mind. Causing a sting in her chest, once the scrolls nigh simultaneously had caught fire. Burning bright as day for an instant, to turn into scrunched ashes a moment later. Arya had shivered at the sight, although it hadn’t been cold in her chamber. Nonetheless, she had put another log onto the embers and had quickly slipped under her covers again. Why? his voice had questioned inside her head, and she had squinted her eyes shut, snarling, “Leave me alone.”

Still, it had taken her at least another hour to fall asleep, and it hadn’t lasted long. Two hours before dawn, she woke from a dream. About him waking her, whispering her name and gazing down at her, as he had done at the forge. Causing Arya to sit panting in her bed, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. In vain, though. Whereat she did, what had helped the day before. She put on a shirt, trousers and boots, yet also took a candle on her way to the secret door and from there to her practice vault.

Where she lit all the torches at the walls, to search the piles of furniture for an ebony dragon-ornamented hourglass, she had glimpsed there somewhere on her first inspection of the Targaryen holdovers. There you are! Arya had to crawl under a row of stacked chairs to pull it out, before she finally could start killing him again. As many times as possible, before the sand had run through the glass.

She felt better afterwards, yet hadn’t completely dispelled him from her mind. That would’ve needed several more hours… But Arya had no intentions to give her mother ideas of hovering over her day and night now. So, she left it at only this one hour of practice before dawn.

Even though, in the end all her effort was for naught. When she returned to the hidden door, another scroll was already waiting for her. What the fuck? But most of all, Had she missed this earlier? Or had he been here just now? Arya stared at the small parchment, unable to decide what to do. Maybe she should leave it? Yes, probably. If she just didn’t touch it, didn’t collect it, he’d stop sending new ones. Just had to! Eventually. However, at change of guards the scroll then subconsciously disappeared in her boot. Or at least that was, what Arya told herself afterwards, when she paced back and forth in her chamber. Damnit. She furiously unrolled it and read, “Are you in distress? If so, I would like to help. I know, you do not need it. Still, consider me at your service.”

“Bloody prince!” she cursed and spent the rest of the day sulking and hating him. As well as her mother. She was even slightly mad at her father, for expecting her reputation to remain as clean and pure as a fresh flake of snow. The while he turned two blind eyes to Robb’s little flings. Even Jon had once been caught kissing a girl, and nobody had cared. Or about Theon’s ongoing obsession with a whore. Whereas, she and Sansa couldn’t be alone in a room with a man or youngling – not even for an instant – without risking to be seen as ruined. It wasn’t fair, and it made no sense. Nonsense like that, had led to Arya wishing, she would have been born a boy. She hated being a girl. Being a girl only caused the whole mess, she was in now.

So, unsurprisingly the following night didn’t provide much relief and rest either. Once more, Arya spent it mostly tossing and turning until she eventually fell asleep. Waking again before dawn, to sneak to the secret passageway. Where she then once again found a small scroll of parchment… He had to be jesting? Yet, this time she took the message to the Targaryen vault, where she read it before her practice, “Lest you had not noticed, I bested him today. Again. Will you bet on me now?” Stupid bull-headed fool. She furiously scrunched the parchment up and lit it at the torch on the wall. Before she started a new round of lashing and cutting at him, in every which way she could come up with within an hour’s time. To the apparent great amusement of Balerion, who watched her curiously as she whirled around in the vault – trying to banish him from her thoughts. Without success, once more.

She would have undoubtedly spent another day sulking amongst the other ladies in waiting, hadn’t an invitation from Renly awaited her at breakfast. And to her even greater surprise, Lady Catelyn didn’t mind to let Jeyne do the chaperoning once more. Though, for sure only because Sansa’s stupid dresses needed to be finished.

Less than two hours later, Arya found herself on horseback, arriving at a small camp about two leagues southwards from the city. “We’re here, my lady.” Renly announced there roguishly. Yet, seeing a tall dark-haired man emerge from one of the tents just then, caused Arya’s heart to skip a beat. The resemblance was astonishing. Although this man seemed younger and his ears were unmistakably bigger, he otherwise looked the spitting image of the crown prince. Great, surrounded by two lookalikes.
“Uncle!” the young man greeted, hugging Renly cheerful. Whilst a second tall man— no, a woman stepped from another tent, bowing to the Lord of Storm’s End that greeted her with a hug as well. Wait, was that a blush on her face? Arya watched the scene amazed.
“Lady Arya,” Renly turned back to her, “this’s my nephew, Ser Edric Storm. And this the famous Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

It turned out, his bastard born nephew and the Maid of Tarth came to compete in the tourney. “As mystery knights, of course.” Renly explained, “So, I must swear you and the wonderful Jeyne here to secrecy now.” And to Arya’s surprise, vowed the usually so timid Jeyne Poole at once to never lose a word about any of them.
“Does anyone else know about this?” Arya asked, going with her gut.
“Well, you know…” the stormlord retorted tongue-in-cheek, “Maybe another nephew or two, perhaps a niece, a certain friend of mine, a close friend of yours and perhaps a handful stormlanders at the keep.” Of course.

They spent all morning at the camp, and as usual Renly provided them with the most delicious things, while they watched Lady Brienne and Ser Edric spar and joust with one another, as well as their and Renly’s squires. However, the longer Arya watched them – especially the Maid of Tarth – the more her muscles urged her to get up and join them.

Lady Brienne was living proof, She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms, outside of Dorne, that refused to be reduced to wifely and motherly duties. Though, naturally the Maid of Tarth was almost ten years older and her build certainly answered that of a warrior better than Arya’s. But she had learned to use her build to her advantage, she was a smaller target and a damn quick one at that. She knew, she couldn’t match the brute force of a grown man; therefore she had learned to outsmart them. Either, she surprised them with abrupt strikes to their most vulnerable spots, or she avoided their blows long enough, until they outspent themselves and opened up their defences.

And now she longed to prove herself against the Maid of Tarth, and maybe Ser Edric too. Given he was a talented fighter himself, with a similar fighting style as his stupid brother. “Could we come here tomorrow again?” Arya burst out eventually, explaining she would like to join the sparring then for a while – if possible.
“Don’t tell me, my lady’s considering to become a mystery knight herself now?” Renly taunted laughing. Yet, he asked Lady Brienne and his nephew nevertheless, if they could spare a moment or two the next day. “I’d spar with the lady myself, if I wouldn’t fear to embarrass the Baratheon name at it.” he argued her case jokingly.

Though unsurprisingly, the two warriors weren’t exactly thrilled at the idea and exchanged a puzzled glance. Before Lady Brienne then apologetically claimed, with the tourney so nigh, she wouldn’t have time to give any sword fighting lessons now. But thankfully, Renly wasn’t willing to give up just yet and corrected the misunderstanding, assuring that Arya wouldn’t need any teaching. And she quickly added, she simply wouldn’t have had a sparring partner since Winterfell, but would have practised last only this very morning. Thus, Edric Storm eventually gave in, suggesting to the Maid of Tarth, they could well spare a moment to give her a try. Still, the stubborn warrior lady felt the need to tell Arya that she couldn’t be coming in a dress, then.
“I won’t.” she promised, now giddy with excitement. Until she recalled her incorrigible mother. But Renly promised at once, he would smuggle her attire and weapons out of the keep in the morrow. Arya would only need to tell him, when and where to send his men to collect them.

Looking forward to her very first sparring session in over half a year now, Arya then even spent the afternoon someway content and smiling; despite that she did as her mother had asked and re-joined the other ladies on the terrace. For now, all her trouble focussing on what happened in the yard below, had another cause. Him. Which even increased her anticipation for the next day. Arya couldn’t wait to spar with the Maid of Tarth and his lookalike brother, knowing If she could beat Edric Storm, she could beat him as well. A thought that worked miracles on easing her inner flurry. And it certainly made her enjoy it all the more, when Ser Barristan taught him a lesson in close combat that afternoon.

Arya guffawed unabashed at the scene. The other ladies’ outraged murmurs and Sansa’s instant reprimanding – how it were improper and disrespectful to laugh at a prince – only made her guffaw last longer. And why shouldn’t she? when half the men in the yard snorted no less with laughter. All that mattered, was that she at last would spar again.

Come dawn next morning, Arya left her bed in a fever of excitement, and not even his next scroll ruined her splendid mood now. “It gladdens me, you had a good laugh today. At my expense.” this one read and only made her laugh once more at the recollection – of him lying on his back within a blink of an eye. This day, nothing would sour her mood, Arya vowed to herself, while she retrieved her treasures from her stash then. Locking them away inside an antler-decked trunk, which Renly’s men had left for her inside the Black Dread’s skull; to collect it there again at sunrise.

But the day got even better at camp, where a new tent stood erected. Hers! As it turned out, once Renly told her, her trunk would await her inside. Arya could hardly believe her luck in that moment.

However, seeing her sparring attire then, let Ser Edric and Lady Brienne drop their jaws. “My lady, I’d assumed, you’d wear some more padding and armour.” the young knight stammered baffled.
“Aye, you can hardly mean to spar with us like that—” the Maid of Tarth added rather shocked.
“But I mean just that.” Arya stepped closer, trying not to smirk smug. They were afraid of hurting her. Good. They underestimated her.
“No, my lady, I won’t fight you dressed like that.” Lady Brienne objected quite outraged.
“Ser Edric it is, then.” Arya retorted confident, causing the young stormlander to blink at her in disbelief. Before his baffled glance wandered from her to Renly, to Lady Brienne and back to her again. “Don’t worry, ser, I won’t hurt you.” Arya taunted cocky, “Not much, at least.” causing him to gasp astounded.
“Beware of the She-wolf of Winterfell, chaps.” Renly teased bouncy. The while Arya eyed his nephew closely, watching his every reaction as she stepped closer. Light-footed like a cat, she encircled him – like wolves did with their prey. She could beat him. She knew, in his state of confusion and insecurity, she could do so quick and easy. It would prove her point to him and Brienne of Tarth. But where would be the fun in that?

“I’d prefer that you strike first, ser.” Arya teased on, when he still didn’t move, “Men tend to claim, they weren’t ready yet, when they find my sword at their throats rather prompt.” Renly roared with laughter at it, and even the Maid of Tarth chuckled slightly. “Go on! I’m not made of glass and I know how to dodge a blow.” Arya challenged, “But you’ll only find out, if you try…”
“My lady, you haven’t even drawn your sword!” Edric Storm objected still puzzled.
“I don’t think I need it for our first round.” she proclaimed, seeing he wouldn’t dare to strike at her for real, “But you’ll need yours, hence I advise you to draw it now.” Unfortunately though, he didn’t. And she lost her patience. She hadn’t come here to stroll around. Arya locked eyes with Ser Edric – stormy blue just like his. But her fighting instinct didn’t allow that stupid prince to mess with her head now. As soon as she was certain, the young knight didn’t expect her attack, she spun around.
Hearing Lady Brienne’s alarmed outcry, “Ed!” Though, it was too late. The stormlander never managed to draw his sword, Arya’s dagger was at his throat, before his hand had even reached the hilt.
“You’re dead, ser.” she told the knight unapologetic, who gawked at her now thunderstruck. Until Renly’s sudden applauding and guffawing roused him from his state of astonishment.

Arya stepped away, and addressed Ser Edric and Lady Brienne again, “Yes, I’m small and slim, and a girl at that. But I can fight. And I’d very much like to prove it to the both of you. But to do so, I need you to stop underestimating me because of my appearance.”
“Alright, I’ll fight you, my lady.” the older woman looked at her somewhat intrigued now.
“Please, call me Arya.” she chuckled, “The both of you.”
“Very well, Arya. I’m Brienne.” the warrior lady smirked, once they began encircling one another. And curiosity quickly won the upper hand over the Maid of Tarth. She drew her sword and attacked almost instantly, forcing Arya to draw her own as well. Brienne’s strikes were deadlier, but Arya landed more – smaller ones, yet deadly in summary.

The men and their squires watched their dance of swords in awe. “I didn’t expect her…” Edric Storm burst out absentminded, scratching the back of his head.
“To actually know to fight?” Renly ruffled his still stunned nephew’s hair.
“To be that good!”
“Her brothers and her dancing master trained her since she was eight, my lords.” Jeyne explained.
“I can see that.” Ser Edric chuckled, soon wanting to spar with Arya himself again. Though, she noticed that unlike Brienne, he still held some of his strength back. Which didn’t surprise Arya. He was a man. Grown up to hearing, women were weak and fragile and needed protection. Hence Arya knew, all she could do was besting him over and over again, to convince him, she didn’t need his protection. And she did.

Close to noon, Arya was so enthusiastic that Renly felt himself forced to invite her for the following day as well. Since he wouldn’t have anything better to do anyway, with all keep folks occupied elsewhere these days, he claimed.

Wherefore upon her return to the palace, Arya felt genuinely balanced and relaxed. For the first time, since she had left Winterfell. She had craved for this. Had needed it, to feel alive again. Truly alive! Even her father noticed and told her, he had missed seeing her beaming like this. Only, he misjudged it for a sign that she were settling in now. Never! She knew, after the tourney – if her mother would follow through with her plans – joy and excitement were nothing, she could expect from life from then on. Not here. But until then, Arya was determined to live her life to the fullest.

It was a true pity that Lady Catelyn never realised, how much more affable her wayward daughter was after sparring. Since once more, Arya didn’t mind spending the afternoon with the other ladies on the terrace. She even engaged somewhat in conversation with them, explaining what she saw in the training yard. What hinted to her, who would win a duel. Which opponent acted smarter. Who was easily provoked into making mistakes. Or who she suspected would still hold back his strength or skills.

And to her surprise, Lady Margaery was the one keenest to listen. Though, of course not without first uttering a hardly subtle side blow, “With all the others solely here to beguile the men, it’s so refreshing to see, you’re the exception to that.” the Tyrell woman chirped, apparently thinking herself sly, “Say, sweet Arya, may I ask for your expertise on how our crown prince’s faring down there?”
“Sure, my lady.”
“Please, call me Margaery, my dear Arya.” That viper obviously thought her daft. But once more Arya didn’t mind, she was underestimated. It only put her at advantage.

She quickly developed a certain routine in the following days. A schedule, even. She got up before dawn and snuck to the secret door. Just to see, if he finally had given up. And if not, then she could hardly leave a message, possibly addressed to her namely, for someone else to find there. It was safer to collect and destroy it, Arya told herself the first few times over picking the notes up and sneaking back to her chamber. Where she then always found reasons, why she better should read them, before she lit them up to pretend they never existed.

Afterwards, she got ready for her ride with Renly – the official name for their arrangement – and broke her fast with her father. Before she spent the rest of her mornings sparring with the squires and Brienne and Edric at the camp. However, from the third day on, she also practised archery and riding at rings and at quintain; which she hadn’t done since Winterfell, either. Until on the sixth day, Edric even offered to joust with her, which then logically led to Arya secretly deciding that she should become a mystery knight herself.

To compete at least in horse racing and archery, as well as in riding at quintain and maybe even in jousting. Solely the melees, she deemed too dangerous for herself to participate in. The squires-only melee out of fear, her father and his men might recognise her fighting style. And the melee of the grown men out of common sense. Her speed and agility allowed Arya to face and even defeat bigger and stronger opponents in single combat. Yet, in the thick of the fray, against several of them and without the space to evade their heavy blows, she knew, she could sustain severe injuries. And that was just a risk, Arya wasn’t willing to take, without a life and death cause – simply for the reason to show off.

Her daily schedule at the Red Keep on the other hand, remained mostly the same, meaning she spent her afternoons until supper with the other unwed court ladies on the terrace. Only now Arya no longer minded. Due to her morning activities with Renly, she could skip needlework again. Which made it so much easier for her, to overlook the silliness of the other ladies. And logically, she had now all the more reason to study the men in the training yard. She needed to know her opponents.

Although, she only ever got to see their sparring and bowman skills. Since jousting practice unfortunately took place at the arena, outside the city gates – as a males and commoners only affair. But Arya could live with that shortcoming. A fool in single combat was hardly a master tactician on horseback. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t learned anything from her suitors and the princes in that past half year at court. They had told her about the outcomes of the previous tournaments, and which men they considered likely candidates to win the different competitions this time – or which ones they deemed better not to be underestimated. Hence, Arya didn’t see it as a big deficiency that she couldn’t watch her rivals joust. She knew, what she could do on horseback. Namely far more than those southern pricks expected. Of a woman. And of someone so small.

The only shortcoming that actually bothered her, was that now during the last sennight before the tourney, her time on the terrace was pretty much her only chance to see Ned. Or him. She didn’t mind watching Gendry in the yard anymore, despite still thinking about him – too often, and especially alone abed in her chamber. But now that she was able to actually practise again, she no longer felt haunted by him. Wherefore she now also allowed herself to smile again, when she read his messages.

The day after her first sparring match with Brienne and Edric, his note had said, “You looked happy today.” And she was, so no harm had been done by him stating the obvious. However the following day, Arya hadn’t solely found another scroll behind the secret door, reading, “Will I ever receive a reply?” but also ink, quill and parchment.
And for asking such a stupid question, she had decided to answer in an equally idiotic way, writing, “No.”
To which he then had replied, “Really?”
Whereat she had retorted, “Yes, really. You are really stupid.”
“I like that you are not. P.S. You do realise, I keep beating him?” had stood in his following message.
And to that she had replied, “Does not mean, you are quick.”
“Does not mean, he is better.” he had claimed.
“Does not mean, you are better.” she had declared.
“Yes, it does.” his next scroll had stated.
“Keep on dreaming.” she had mocked.
And he had teased, “I will. And you, are you already swooning?”
To which she had responded, “Again, keep on dreaming.”
And he had replied, “Again, I will. P.S. A certain tom misses you. Care to do something about it? Nightfall.”
“Trousers mandatory, I presume?” she teased, even though she didn’t know, if he would get the message before they would meet.

Arya couldn’t really say, when exactly she had begun to look forward to his notes. She only realised that now she somehow did. And the longer their little parchment war lasted, the more fun she had at it. Finding herself silently grinning and chuckling behind the hidden door, every day before dawn now. Or in case of his latest message, leaning against the cool stone wall, trying to calm her racing heart.

Her life could have gone on like this forever. Well, almost. She still missed the North and Winterfell. Her brothers and Theon. The wolves. Mycah. The godswood. Syrio. Mikken. Osha. Uncle Benjen. Maester Luwin. Old Nan. Hodor. Ser Rodrik. The Wolfswood. The hot pools. The snow. The cold. The vastness of the land… Yet, she had something she liked in the south now, too. Someone. Someones. Ned. Myrcella. Tommen. Balerion. Renly. Brienne. Edric. Loras. Hot Pie. Lommy. And of course him, him in particular.

His last message made her wonder all morning, what he might have in mind for this nightly exploring. Another trip to Flea Bottom? To the tavern? Or perhaps he would show her more passageways? All she knew, was that it would be something she would like. Something special. Something, she’d really like— Arya hadn’t even noticed how distracted she was of a sudden. Until Brienne now managed to disarm her, landing a heavy blow on her left forearm, causing Arya to her drop her practice sword. And little did she know, this would lead to her downfall mere hours later…

Chapter Text

Unbeknownst to Arya, her lady mother and Sansa hadn’t only commissioned and worked on new gowns for themselves, but also for her. And of all things, Lady Catelyn had arranged Arya’s fitting with the dressmaker after her alleged ride with Renly. Which shouldn’t have been a big deal. Her mother was busy finishing some embroidery throughout it, and hadn’t really paid attention to Arya's undressing and slipping into the skirts of the first new gown. Which wouldn’t have been a big deal, had Arya not had a nice fresh bruise blooming on her forearm. Or more like, had the dressmaker not gasped in shock at the sight of it. “What in the gods’ names is that?” Catelyn Tully glared at her daughter’s arm, “What’ve you done?” Bloody seamstress.
“Fell off the horse…” Arya claimed sullen. Although, her mother naturally knew it was a lie, as well as Arya knew that her mother knew.

Only, mere two days before the tourney, Lady Stark couldn’t afford to delay her defiant daughter’s fitting any longer. So, she kept a straight face all the while the dressmaker pinned Arya’s new gowns. The woman hadn’t much pinning to do, since she clearly had had the measurements, but the sheer sum of new dresses made the fitting last all afternoon. Fourteen in total! One damn gown for each damn tourney day. Awful pieces of fabric, and particularly one green one. With bloody acorns on it! Whose idea had that been? Why couldn’t she solely wear Stark colours? Grey and white, and blue for the Stark women – because of the winter roses. Those colours Arya actually liked. Especially blue. The colour of the infinite sky and freedom… and his eyes.

Before then after supper, which naturally had been a rather quiet and awkward episode, her lord father and lady mother demanded to know, how Arya really had come by the bruise on her arm. Because of him, of course. Who else made her stumble from one haranguing into the next, of late? Though, she could hardly tell them such, in fact Arya couldn’t tell them anything. Not without ruining everything. So, she solely folded her arms in front of her chest and scowled defiant at her mother. Who outraged proclaimed, she were able to identify sparring bruises by now. “And don’t you think, I hadn’t seen the fading ones on your back and legs, so stop denying it.”
“Arya, you have to tell us the truth now.” her father tried in a more understanding tone, “Who were you sparring with?”
But she simply couldn’t give them what they wanted, not without stitching someone else up. “No one.” she claimed sullenly.
“This isn’t how we raised you! You’ve always had a mind of your own, but you never lied to us—” Ned Stark reprimanded, evidently disappointed.
“To you, mayhap. She’s lied to me countless times.” Lady Catelyn interrupted, “And I’d warned you this’d happen.”
Lord Stark ignored his wife’s side blow, following his gut instinct, “Child, are you protecting someone?” Try plural.
“No.” Arya growled.

“I’ve had enough of this now.” Lady Stark fumed and made for the door, yelling, “Guard!”
Whereas, her husband sat down on the chair next to their daughter, “Don’t you see, we’re worried about you, Arya. The people here didn’t see you grow up, they don’t understand. If you’re seen here, sneaking around with a youngling or a man, the truth won’t matter. It won’t matter that we believe you. You’d be ruined.”
“Is that all you care about nowadays, my bloody reputation? What about me?” Arya spat in utter frustration, hating how hurt her father looked at that. But it had to be said. They were hurting her too.
“Child—” he attempted to placate her.

Though, he was interrupted by his wife returning to the room. “Did you really think, I wouldn’t get suspicious? Seeing you suddenly behave all nice and proper, for nigh a fortnight now?” Catelyn Tully snarled, yet turned back to the door to demand, “Send them in!” Them who? Arya didn’t understand. Until it dawned on her. Only, then her father’s steward and behind him his daughter, Jeyne, already entered the room. Fuck.

“Now we get the truth, one way or another.” Lady Catelyn announced, before she thanked Vayon Poole and his daughter for joining them so spontaeous. Both of them clearly felt uneasy, getting summoned so sudden. Though, once Jeyne’s eyes landed on Arya, they widened in fear. Damn.
“Jeyne, can you please explain to us, how our daughter came to return from the ride this morning with a bruised arm?” Ned Stark inquired, smiling kindly at the young woman. Nonetheless, Jeyne glanced instantly at Arya again. Fool! Arya signalled her to keep her mouth shut.
“Don’t look at her, Jeyne, look at me.” Catelyn Tully instructed. But Jeyne couldn’t hold the eye contact with her superior and sought out her own father’s eyes for reassuring.
“Tell them, you silly girl!” the steward unsurprisingly sided with Lord and Lady Stark.
“Um, my lord, my lady—” Jeyne stammered, staring at her skirts’ hem.
“Fine! I sparred with Renly’s squires, but nothing more.” Arya burst out, still hoping that she wouldn’t have to spill all the beans, “Right, Jeyne?” she looked at the other girl, narrowing her eyes – warning her.

Yet, her mother was out for blood now, either hers or Jeyne’s, “Then how come you didn’t tell me of this, Jeyne?”
“Leave her alone!” Arya snarled, “I threatened her, that’s why.”
“Is that so, Jeyne?”
“Mm, yes, my lady.” Jeyne nodded, eying her skirts again.
“Well, since our daughter evidently is no longer in a position to make any threats here, I wonder is there anything else, we might want to know?” Lady Catelyn studied the young woman closely. And once more Jeyne’s glance flew to Arya, who again silently warned her. Shut up now! In vain. Catelyn Tully watched their exchange clearly pleased, “Say, is it possible, you could tell us, what Arya’s been up to lately?” Causing the commoner nod reluctantly.
“Don’t you dare!” Arya jumped from her chair, “You vowed—”
But she was held back by her father, “Arya, enough!” he chided in his lord voice. Before he addressed the steward’s daughter in his kind and encouraging tone, “Jeyne, go on. Tell us, what we need to know.”

In the end, Catelyn Tully unsurprisingly managed to tickle all of Arya’s secrets out of poor Jeyne Poole, leastwise those the lass knew of. The one that Jeyne had figured out on her own, that neither Renly nor Loras really courted Arya. As well as the one that she had overheard, how Arya intended to place bets in the tourney. And eventually even the one, Arya had let her in on herself, that she wanted to compete in the tournament. Stupid! Arya scolded herself.

A couple of days ago, she had seen herself forced to confide in Renly, realising that she couldn’t pull it off all on her own. First most, Arya had needed some more armour, such as helmet and shield, but also caparison and chamfron for her steed. Wherefore she and Renly had come up with the plan, that Arya should pose as Brienne’s second squire. A disguise perfect for her small build. And on top of that, it would allow her to change and dress in Brienne’s tent and hide her equipment and stallion in-between the belongings and mounts of the Maid of Tarth and her actual squire. But most of all, they had agreed, attention would need to be drawn away from Arya Stark as a potential suspect for the wee mystery knight – particularly that of her lady mother and lord father. Which was why they eventually had let Jeyne in, only two days ago. To pose as her, being seen to go for strolls or rides with Renly, whilst Arya competed in the contests.

Only now, all their careful preparations were for naught. She should’ve known better. Should’ve covered her bruises, and most importantly should’ve found someone else to pass off as her. Someone who didn’t tremble in fear of Catelyn Tully, Arya ranted at herself. The only reason, why she didn’t feel like murdering Jeyne right there on the spot, was that the girl hadn’t proven entirely spineless. Jeyne had indeed revealed everything she knew about Arya, but never once mentioned, there were two more mystery knights and three more squires involved. Thankfully.

Though, what actually stunned Arya that evening, was her father’s reaction to hearing all this. She had expected him to be shocked and disappointed, quite like her mother. But not to see him sink down in a chair, his face all pale and empty of emotions – except for his eye that looked absentmindedly at her. Full of pain and sadness. At first, Eddard Stark didn’t even respond to his wife’s scolding once Jeyne and Vayon Poole had been dismissed. “Why am I even surprised?” Catelyn Tully vented her anger, “Of course, she wants to compete in a tournament! After all that nonsense, you allowed her—”
“It’s not nonsense! It’s what I want.” Arya hissed defiant, “It’s what I’m actually good at… unlike stupid dancing and singing, sewing and stitching—”
“Ned, please, tell me you see reason now. This has to stop, at once.” Lady Stark demanded, ignoring her daughter’s objection.

The upshot was that Arya was sent to her room, whilst her father and mother retired to the Hand’s bedchamber. To discuss her future there in private, As though it weren’t something that concerned her! Arya thought fuming. All because of a little bruise, and Jeyne’s big mouth. Everything ruined, she had worked for. She should’ve known! Shouldn’t’ve let her guard down. Shouldn’t’ve underestimated her mother… Slumping down at her small desk, Arya furiously grabbed quill and parchment. No need to take others down with her. She decided to rather risk everything now, instead of letting Renly walk right into a trap.

“Why the hurry? I’m not going anywhere without you.” Gendry teased, seeing her dash into the vault, “Yet, I thought we’d agreed on trousers—” Before his roguish grin made way for a frown. “What’s wrong?” he strode towards her, heading her off partway.
“You’ve to warn him! Renly.” Arya gasped for air, handing him her message, “Give him this!”
“Why? What happened?” he stared at her startled.
“Read it, if you like, it’s not sealed. Just take it to him, tonight!” she panted, “I’ve to go—”
“Wait, Arya.” he caught her arm, “Whatever it is, I want to help—”
“Then warn your uncle, and protect his squires. I don’t want anyone else punished for my stupidity, least of all those three lads.”
“I will.” he promised and questioned clearly worried, “Should I halt… I mean, with the messages?” Most definitively!
Still, Arya heard herself saying, “No, I’ll collect them at dawn during change of guard.” Before she darted back to her chamber as swift as she could. wondering, Why hadn’t she told him to stop? It was reckless, especially now.

Until then in the morning, she knew why, once she read, “Stags stand their ground against wolves. P.S. A Hand may have a king’s ear. But you have mine.” At first, Arya thought of replying with a jest – such as that of course she would have his ear, both of them even, after having chewed them off now twice. But then she decided not to make fun of him, just this once. So, “Thank you.” was her only reply that day. Afore she snuck back to her bed, somewhat relieved and even smiling then.

It was only a short relief, though. Her father summoned her before noon, to inform her, Renly would no longer court her, and neither would Ser Loras. “To allow appropriate suitors to woo you now.” Catelyn Tully spelled it out, As if she wouldn’t know why. Furthermore, they told her, Renly would have returned her possessions, which they would have taken into custody now. What? No, those were her belongings! Arya ranted, demanding them back at once. But her lady mother retorted frigid, she should rather count herself lucky, they weren’t melted down, yet. Her Needle molten down? Arya glared at her mother in absolute fury at that. Knowing, her father wouldn’t even think of threatening her with such. Goddamn hawk of a mother.

Lady Catelyn proclaimed entirely unimpressed, should Arya want her possessions returned to her, she would need to earn it. By earning back their trust. More probably hers! And cunning as Catelyn Tully was, she naturally offered the perfect solution for her daughter’s dilemma. The tournament should serve as her punishment and path to redemption. For its time, Arya would only have to act as her degree commanded. Meaning, doing her mother’s every bidding… becoming the obedient little lady, Catelyn Tully had always tried to mould her into. Vainly. Until now. When Arya herself had provided her the perfect leverage. Stupid! You bloody, stupid fool. she harangued herself, clenching her fists infuriated. Yet, she remained silent – to save the one item that meant the world to her. She would get it back, one way or another. Even if she had to steal it… and then run for her life from her own mother.

And so the day after, the tourney in celebration of King Robert’s nameday began, with an opening ceremony at the Great Hall. Where Arya felt, as though she reenacted an even worse version of her first day at court – forced to play along and pretend once more, she were a docile little lady. When in truth, she felt more miserable than she ever had in her entire life. And not even Gendry’s message that morning provided much comfort over the loss of Needle. “Are you in dire straits? I would lief bestead you, if only you would suffer it.” his note then had read, but Arya had just sullenly replied, “Nothing, I could not handle.”

The festivities in the evening began as usual with the nobles gathering in the Great Hall. But unlike her first night at court, Arya didn’t have to follow Sansa around like a pup now. Ned was fortunately already there and asked her lord father and lady mother prompt, if he were allowed to keep her company for the evening. Before he subtly led her out of Catelyn Tully’s earshot. “Don’t you dare leave my side tonight.” Arya growled gloomy, “Or else she’ll make me dance with every damn eligible bachelor in this hall.”
“Not going to happen.” Ned jested grinning, “I’ve scarcely seen you this past fortnight. Thus tonight you’re all mine… whether you like it or not.” But Arya naturally didn’t mind. If she had to suffer through this madness, she was more than happy to do so together with him.

However, when it was time to take their seats for the banquet, Lady Catelyn surprised them both, once she offered Ned the seat between her and Arya. Which at first seemed a great idea to Arya, to have Ned shielding her from her suitors and her very own mother. Though, naturally it soon became apparent that Catelyn Tully hadn’t solely done it, to get some distance between her and her wayward daughter, but rather to give the young Dornishman a broad hint.

While Ned played dumb and politely engaged in conversation with her, Lady Stark was hardly subtle in her assurances that a request for Arya’s hand in marriage were likely to be granted. Seven hells! Arya thought it utterly embarrassing, suspecting any less patient man than the Lord of Starfall would have stood up outraged. So, she was more than glad, when at last the king and his family arrived, to open the banquet – and shutting up her mother for at least a little while.

King Robert entered his great hall under cheers to his wellbeing, and took his seat at the dais after a toast by the crown prince. Who then announced, unlike the tournaments before, this one wouldn’t begin with a reigning Queen of Love and Beauty and her five champions. “Apologies, dear sister.” he addressed Myrcella, “Though, I hope it gives you some solace, to know that next time you’ll have all three of your brothers defend your honour.” And Tommen quickly vowed to prove himself worthy of the task during the following days. “But please, don’t give up hope just yet, sweet sister." the older prince went on, “I’m certain, there are many noble men and mayhap even a prince in this very hall that are determined to crown you anyway.” He hinted a bow towards Trystane at it, which made Myrcella beam with joy. Whereas the queen and Joffrey’s expressions soured into glares at once.
And the king wasn’t exactly whispering in his instant reprimanding, “You bloody oaf had to act on your own authority, huh? You might want to keep in mind, I’m not yet dead, boy, and thus still capable and willing to strip you of all the privileges bestowed on you.” But the crown prince only shrugged, trying to hide his unapologetic smirk.

Causing a wave of murmurs go through the hall now afterwards, confusing Arya, “What’s going on?”
“Prince Gendry just endorsed Prince Trystane’s courtship of his sister, against the will of king and queen, it seems.” Sansa explained next to her. Oh… Arya smiled, realising how much this must mean to her friend, the princess.
“Perhaps, he defies the queen in another matter now as well…” Margaery grinned knowingly at Sansa, “This tournament just became a lot more interesting, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?” Arya inquired wary. The viper was up to something, and surely nothing good.
“Oh, you know, just gut instinct.” the snake retorted mysteriously. Yet, unlike Arya, her sister seemed to understand and smiled happily for the rest of the night.

However, Ned got unusually quiet after that. Wherefore Arya feared, he could have lost his patience with her lady mother after all. “Are you alright?” she whispered worried, “You can say so, if you’re not. I’ll tell Mother to stop, if she annoys you.”
“No, it’s not that. Your lady mother’s rather kind, actually.” he assured. Yet, he kept on brooding all the while until the dancing started, led by Loras and Sansa – the Champion and Queen of Love and Beauty of the last tournament.

And only when the crown prince then strode towards their table, Ned of a sudden took her hand and spoke, “Err, Arya, would you do me the honour…” He paused, whilst they both side-glanced at their friend, watching him ask Margaery to dance. “Would you, um… do me the honour of allowing me to wear your favour in the tourney?” Ned burst out, his face flushed bright red at it. Huh?
Arya blinked at him unbelieving, “Did Mother suggest this?”
“Well, she somehow mentioned the ribbon in your hair, that it could be worn as such.” he admitted sheepish. She had planned this all along! Arya’s eyes narrowed, feeling anger boil up inside of her. “But, um, I wanted to ask you anyway…” Ned added swiftly. Sure.
“Don’t make a scene!” Lady Stark stood suddenly behind her daughter, hissing into her ear. “Just give him the ribbon.” she demanded, before she smilingly followed her husband to dance. Why not marry her off right away, and be done with it? Best to that vile old riverlord! Arya scowled enraged at her mother’s back.

“Fine, you can have the damn thing.” she gave in, yet made clear, “But not because she wants me to do it. And this’s the last time you do my mother’s bidding, understood?”
“Understood.” Ned chuckled and claimed once more, “Even though, technically she had nothing to do with it.” Still, he watched Arya evidently relieved, when she removed the ribbon, matching her blue gown in colour, to tie it around his sword arm – for everyone to recognise as her favour.

Even more so, since Ned then also asked her to dance. Which logically, Arya couldn’t refuse either. Her cunning mother had made sure of that beforehand, once she had reminded her of the leverage she now held against her. As if she’d forget.

Yet, thankfully Ned proved his insightfulness and led Arya back to her seat at the table after their third dance. Or maybe he was just embarrassed, of her constantly tripping over her own feet… Still, he kept his promise and didn't leave her side that night.

Only, Arya soon came to realise, it wasn't solely his company, but rather her ribbon that shooed away her other suitors now. She probably would have thought it funny, if the four knights, who nonetheless asked her to dance, had actually asked her and not Ned, whether he minded that they did. As though she had no say in it anymore… And naturally, Ned Dayne denied all four of them. Yet, in doing so, he merely added to Arya’s increasing discomfort. Despite that she had asked his help to keep her suitors at bay, it soon felt as if he denied her a will of her own now too. Because of a stupid piece of cloth around his arm!

However, the worst about it was that, apart from her, no one else seemed to care how she felt at it. Not Ned, and not even her father. Just no one cared. Hence, if it hadn't been for Needle, Arya would have undoubtedly reclaimed her ribbon that very same night – to free herself of this invisible chain, which now apparently bound her to the Lord of Starfall.

And only the next morning, she came to discover, someone else did question the ribbon incident too. “Once again, I fail to grasp your logic. I thought, you would not encourage him. Yet, he sports your favour now.” Gendry’s message said then. Although, he most likely had a good laugh at her expense, him just seeing how odd such a gesture was for her, provided a scrap of comfort. Especially, since no one else cared. However, the reason why should have been obvious, even to him.
“Did you not descry, who whispered to his right ear all night?” Arya replied therefore, still frustrated and completely mad at her mother.

Chapter Text

The tourney arena half a league west of King’s Landing was impressive and indisputably one of King Robert’s attempts to outshine his Targaryen predecessors, who had left their once glorious arena to decay. A fate, this one wouldn’t suffer as long as Robert lived. The king loved only two things more than a good fight, women and wine, therefore he hosted at least two tournaments a year. “That fool would host one every moon, if the Lannisters’ pockets allowed it.” her father had once fumed.

The royal loge at the arena provided by itself seats for at least thirty people, and was flanked by gigantic terraces for the nobles and their household members. Which faced enormous stands for the common people on the opposite side of the huge sandy tourney ground in between. A perfect stage to prove one’s skills.

Only, that didn’t exactly cheer Arya up. She was supposed to be down there, instead of in the front row on the terrace right to the royal loge. Playing the sitting duck there for the contestants, alongside her sister and Lady Margaery, as well as half the other unmarried ladies-in-waiting.

However, at this point, that was as far away as she could get from her lady mother, without endangering Needle. So, Arya almost felt grateful, that for a change she was out of earshot and partly even out of sight from her mother. Well, at least her face was, as Lady Catelyn and her husband were seated in the royal loge. Where the king sat on a throne in the midst of it, with two Kingsguard knights standing behind him. While the queen and Myrcella were seated to his left and Lord and Lady Stark to his right, with the small council members and the king’s favourite courtiers in the rows behind them.

Nevertheless, Arya felt trapped and nailed to the spot there, unable to escape without losing her most treasured possession. And her sister immediately reprimanding her for her sullen mien didn’t help, either. “Why even care, Sansa? Sitting here next to your ugly wildling sister, certainly only makes you look all the prettier.” Arya scoffed, without even looking at her.
“Oh, please, get over yourself! All that horseface-teasing was just that, childish teasing.” Sansa retorted unimpressed, “But if you wish to frown and scowl all day long, fine. I’ve bigger fish to fry than keeping you in check—”
“You mean, you’ve a prince to catch?”
Causing Sansa to glare at her, “Says the one that’s as good as betrothed to the presumable future Hand of the King.”
“Rubbish, that stupid ribbon means nothing.” Arya hissed, “Mother tricked us—”
“Mother didn’t trick anyone, or at least not him.” Sansa snorted, “But I suppose, you’ll find out soon enough, huh?”
“You don’t know what’re talking.” Arya snapped, “You don’t know a thing about Ned, you’ve barely spoken a word with him—”
“First of all, that’s not true. And second, I don’t have to talk to a man to notice, how he looks at my sister…” Sansa countered smug, “Who’s just too blind or stupid to see it for herself—”
“I’m not blind, or stupid! You’re just wrong.”
“If you say so…” Sansa scoffed and demonstratively turned to Margaery then, ignoring Arya’s further objections.

Watching the mainly squires-only competitions during the first couple of days then, only added to Arya’s frustration. All she got to see there, was that She could’ve stood her ground against these fledglings. Easily. She could have effortlessly come off amongst the last ten in the squires-only melee. Apart from Tommen, who emerged the winner, she thought hardly seven other squires good enough to stand a chance against her. And even that only if they were lucky. Yet, seeing the younglings ride at rings and at quintain was even worse. She would have beaten all of them! Most likely even blindfolded. A realisation that made Arya fear, she would lose her mind even before the end of the first sennight.

And she probably would have, if it weren’t for her small stolen moments beyond the reach of Catelyn Tully’s claws. Or anyone else’s. Her secret moments of freedom, her tiny bits of joy and happiness. Especially, since Gendry sided fully with her on the whole ribbon nonsense. It felt good to still have someone in her corner. Who didn’t push her into directions and choices, she didn’t want. Someone that sincerely accepted her for who she was, and who still encouraged her to rebel against her mother.

After telling him the ribbon hadn’t been her idea, his next message astounded her, “You are not exactly known to play by the rules. So, why not stultify them both and allow someone else to wear your favour as well?”
“And whom do you propose therefor? Yourself?” Arya questioned, unsure if that was what he had aimed for.
“Not necessarily. I could not flaunt it without disgruntling certain someones. Mayhap in secret though, should you want me to.” he answered, astonishing her even more.
It took her a while to come up with a smart reply to that, “Unless I gave ribbons to all contestants. Then even you could wear it openly.”

It actually would have been a brilliant idea, to sneer at the whole charade. If it wouldn’t have been for Needle. And Ned, who would have been ridiculed the most by such a jest. No, he deserved better. Even though he had caused the whole mess.

Though, apparently Gendry disagreed. “A sound scheme, in which I shall gladly play my part. P.S. Nice gown.” his following message said. That day her mother had forced her to wear that horrible green dress. So, of course he had teased her about it. Who could blame him? Had someone else worn it, Arya probably would have snorted with laughter at the sight.
Yet, now she couldn’t help feel embarrassed, “I looked like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”
“Nice, though. A nice oak tree.” Was he still mocking her? Though, what if he wasn’t? Her heart flipped at the thought. No, stupid, he’s just taunting you.
So, she responded, “If you like it so much, you can have it. For I intend to tear it to pieces.” A plan, she put into action the following night, since watching the archery competition later that day only increased her frustration.

Arya obviously wouldn’t have won, victory was rightfully that of a redhead from the Dornish Marches. But she could have probably made it to the last thirty. If not the last twenty, with a bit of luck. She could have even competed in skirts, looking all proper and ladylike at it. It just made no sense at all that she wasn’t allowed.

And thus, her green gown fell prey to the she-wolf that night. Arya ripped and shred it to pieces, to finally blow off some steam. However, when she was done, sitting exhausted amidst the messy remains of what once had been a silly acorn dress, an appliqué that she had torn off the neckline caught her eye. Looks like… she thought and grinned, getting an idea. Obviously, the same one as him. “Nice ribbon size pieces, I hope.” his next message said.
To which Arya replied, “Satisfied now?” Before she tied the makeshift ribbon around her scroll.

In response, she had expected to receive only more teasing. But he didn’t. And she was grateful for it, since the following two contests were the hardest for her to watch. Horse racing. Short distance races one day, and a long distance race the day after. It was awful. Arya felt absolutely miserable over watching them. Seething with rage, she dug her nails into her palms to stand it. She could’ve won… Both, at short distance and at long distance. No, she would’ve won! None of the men matched her horsemanship. But instead, she and her stallion were caged and chained. He in the royal stables and she on a goddamn terrace, forced to watch others steal their victories. Worse even, her friends stealing them.

Ned won at short distance and Trystane at long distance. Causing Arya to go green with envy, to see them receive their trophies. She’d raced and beaten both Dornishmen. Which Ned later at the banquet at least acknowledged, when he assured her, she could have beaten him. Would have!

If Lady Catelyn hadn’t noticed her ill humour then, reminding her once again of what was at stake, Arya undoubtedly would have tried to steal Needle back that night. But her lady mother surely expected such now. Probably even hoped for it, to prove her point to her husband. Hence Arya decided heavy-hearted against it and tried to placate herself, You’re already halfway through with the damn thing, just one more sennight to go. Only seven more days to play along, then all in that trunk will be yours again.

However, Gendry found a better way to console her. “Losing to him was a shame. Losing to you would have been an honour.” his next note read.
And once more Arya could only reply, “Thank you.” She was simply still too busy begrudging Ned his victory, to come up with something clever then. However, it was the message the day after that truly amazed her.
“I would have loved to see you outrun us all.” his scroll then read. But it was his additional message, which she found right beside that perplexed her. It was a small wooden box, a shiny, yet plain ebony jewellery box. With another note inside reading, “A tribute to the meant-to-be champion. P.S. I would have made you a sword, if you not already had one.” It lay atop a slim dark-grey ribbon with a small pendant of tarnished silver on it, in shape of A wolf’s head! Arya was so stunned, she almost missed change of guard that morning.
Therefore, she only wrote down the first thing that came to her baffled mind, “I have no armour.” Before she snatched the box and scrolls and hurried swiftly back to her chamber.

Where she then leaned against her closed door, her heart aflutter while she stared at the silver wolf in her palm. Huffing and tempted to hit her head against the wall, she rolled her eyes. At herself, for such a stupid reply. At him, for giving her a stupid necklace. At her body, for such a stupid reaction to a tiny piece of metal. Her. Him. The pendant. Everything. It was just entirely stupid. Yet, somehow she liked it.

Just as she liked watching the contest that day. The melee, the real one now. It was funny at times, hilarious even. Only because she hadn’t planned to compete in it, Arya told herself. But her eyes were drawn to him from the start.

Quite as expected, His armour was marvellous. Blackish tinted steel, with fine golden lines shaping a crowned stag on his breastplate and shield, while subtle antler ornaments adorned helmet, gorget, shoulder plates and the edges of his shield – lacking in embellishments otherwise. Though, most of all, it fit perfect. Like a second skin. Allowing him to move smoother than anyone else. It was magnificent, least to her. Since once again the other ladies-in-waiting failed to recognise it for the masterpiece that it truly was, “It’s way too plain.” one remarked as soon as he stepped onto the tourney ground.
“How could he not have antlers on his helmet?” another commiserated.
“And no crown?”
“So entirely below his status.”
“It’s unworthy of a prince.” one even declared.

“On the contrary!” Arya burst out then, sick of their ignorance. “That’s the finest armour, I’ve ever seen. Fancy decorations are redundant at best, and a death sentence at worst. And I for my part find it rather baffling to see that only two or three dozen men down there seem to heed that.” Arya snarled annoyed, “For if this battle were real, half of them would die over their lousy suits of armour.”
“Hear, hear!” Margaery mocked chuckling, “Only a moment ago, I thought I’d caught you furtively doting on our crown prince. Though, apparently it’s not so much the man and rather his steel you’re smitten with, Lady Arya.” Damn snake of a woman.
“We better not tell Ned that, hm?” Sansa joined in giggling.
“Oh, shut up!” Arya snapped, “All I’m saying is, it’s a fine suit of armour.”
“On the contrary!” her sister parroted, “You championed it, as if its honour were at stake.”
“Still, I agree with your sister.” Margaery butted in again, “A dashing man like that needs no adornments, am I not right, darling Arya?”
“I never said that!” she hissed fretted. Yet, feeling her cheeks threatened to colour up, Arya quickly turned back to watch the men in the arena. Glad to see, the melee was about to start now. Whereas somewhere in her mind his voiced warned, Watch out, little wolf!

Nonetheless, her eyes were soon fixed on him again. Chewing her lower lip, Arya watched him duel and best each of his opponents. One by one, they dropped into the dust and eventually even Ned.

However, seeing Gendry offer him a hand to help him up and how the Dornishman shoved it furiously away, puzzled her. What was that? Ned was never mad, at anyone. Arya even looked questioning to her sister at that. “Told you, he wants to prove himself to you.” Sansa snorted unimpressed.
“That’s just men, little Arya.” the Tyrell woman explained smart-aleck, “Tournaments make their blood run hot, no need to worry.” Arya understood perfectly well, the viper mocked her again, thinking her completely naive and stupid. Yet, seeing Ned storm off the tourney ground, his squire barely able to keep up with him, kind of confirmed what Margaery said.

Moreover, Arya knew how hot-headed she could get at losing a sparring match, she had wanted to win at all costs. And this wasn’t just sparring, just practicing. This was a tourney, with half the Seven Kingdoms watching, she told herself, once her gaze was drawn back to the men still fighting. Him.

He was like a storm broke loose, mowing down everyone in his way, quick and skilful. It didn’t stop, until the black mystery knight stepped into his way. Storm meeting storm, Arya couldn’t help chuckling, seeing the two brothers dance around each other. Similar height, similar build, similar fighting style. It was fascinating. No, hilarious. Since Arya naturally couldn’t refrain from side-glancing into the royal loge now. Where the seemingly oblivious king roared with excitement, whooping, “Beat him, son! Do me proud!” causing her to giggle even more. It was almost a pity, when the blue mystery knight lastly bested Jaime Lannister to then join their duel, defeating the black knight soon after and duelling the crown prince then alone.

However, while they did, a squire handed the black mystery knight his horse, and he rode boldly to the royal loge to bow to the king. Causing Robert of course to ask him to remove his helmet, but the knight refused unsurprising. Instead, he bowed a second time and turned his mount to ride off.

Or so Arya thought. Until he steered his mount to their terrace, right in front of her. “Lady Arya, it’s been a pleasure.” He bowed to her as well, before he actually rode from the arena, then. Causing her to chuckle and her sister to gasp in shock.
“You know him?” Sansa stared at her in disbelief.
“Well, he’s a mystery knight. So, who could know for sure…” Arya joked amused, turning her attention back to the two remaining fighters – suddenly unsure who to root for now.

“Oh my gods, Arya!” Sansa burst out a moment later, “Please, tell me, the necklace isn’t his?”
“What? No!” Arya turned startled back to her sister, instinctively grasping the pendant. Great, you bloody fool.
“Your behaviour says otherwise.” Sansa hissed, narrowing her eyes, “Till yesterday you were all glaring anger. And now look at you… furtively smiling, absently playing with the pendant, even blushing now.”
“It’s not his!” Arya hissed, “I swear.” She tried to get her flushed face under control.
“And whose is it, then?” Margaery interposed prying. Nobody was talking to you, snake.
“Mine.” Arya snapped defiant.
“Yes, obviously.” the Tyrell woman chuckled, yet kept looking daggers at her, “But whose gift was it?”
“Yes, who gave it to you?” Sansa demanded furious.
“That’s none of your damn business.” Arya snarled, getting angry herself.
“And what about Ned?” Sansa snapped at her.
“What about him?”
“You gave him your favour!” her sister countered outraged, “You can’t just accept gifts from other men anymore, you’re insulting him.”

“Rubbish!” Arya huffed, finally getting an idea. “Not when it’s Jon’s.” she claimed, trying to sound nonchalant.
“No, that’s rubbish!” Sansa glared at her, “How could he send you gifts like that from Castle Black?”
“Before he left, silly.” Arya snorted, her nerves slowly calming. They could never prove otherwise. Jon would back her, even if they asked him. And their father wouldn’t dare to take another of his gifts away.
But Sansa just wouldn’t give up, “Then how come you never wore it before?”
“Because I opened the box only today, obviously.” Arya hissed, remembering a lesson of her water dancing master, Add some truth to a lie, and it’ll be all the more convincing.
“What box?” Sansa blinked confused. Caught you.
“The wooden box it was in, stupid. I wasn’t supposed to open it before my nameday, unless I really needed him. And now I did—” That, she’d buy. Just had to.
Only, Lady Margaery wasn’t yet convinced, “And why’d you need your brother now?”
“Because I was supposed to compete in the races, I was meant to win them!” Arya snarled, glaring at the viper.

“Oh, not this again… You’re a woman, you can’t compete in a tournament.” Sansa rolled her eyes, regaining her wits, “And this still doesn’t explain, how you know the black knight. Who is he?”
“I guess, you’ll never know…” Arya smirked confident, now that the attention was drawn away from the necklace.
“Want me to tell mother?” Sansa threatened.
“Won’t tell her either.” Arya countered unimpressed, “Though, I’ve no problem telling father.” After the tourney, and only if he insisted. “I bet, he’s perfectly fine with that knight being polite to me. Since that’s all it was—”
“And what about Ned? Will he also be perfectly fine with your new acquaintance?” Sansa questioned disbelieving.
“How do you think, I know of the black knight?” Arya claimed and mocked, “Maybe your precious prince can help you figure this one out? Though, I doubt it. He seems a bit thick in the head.”
“You can’t say such things about—” Sansa reprimanded once more outraged.
“Sure, I can. I just did.” Arya scoffed, no longer willing to listen to her sister’s and Margaery’s nonsense.

However, right then, when she finally could focus on the duel again, it was over. Over all their bickering, they hadn’t noticed, the crown prince somehow had managed to disarm the blue knight. “That’s my son! My son!” the king literally burst with pride, to see his heir follow him in his footsteps, winning apparently melee after melee.
“Damnit, now I missed the fighting, because of you sillies.” Arya huffed annoyed, but her sister no longer heard her. Sansa was far too busy pretending she had seen it all, joining euphorically in with the arena-wide cheering and applauding to the prince’s swordsmanship.

The while he walked towards the royal loge. Removing his his helmet, he knelt to the king and queen, still panting and red-faced and sweaty from fighting. Before he got up again, to hint smiling a bow towards their terrace. Meeting Arya’s glance at it for an instant, caused her heart to skip a beat once more and forced her to compress her lips, to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upwards.

Although, the viper probably didn’t notice it, since Sansa in between them went wild over his small gesture. “Oh, my gods! Oh, my gods! Margaery, did you see that? He meant us, didn’t he?” she gasped delirious with joy, whilst the prince turned around to bow to the common people on the opposite stands then.
“Told you, something’s changed about him lately.” Margaery countered smug, causing Arya to furrow her brows. What was she up to?

For some reason, her instinct told her to keep an eye on Margaery afterwards. After all, he was her friend. However, Arya seemed to be only one concerned. At first, Sansa shrugged her misgiving off. Telling her, she shouldn’t bother about Margaery. And later at the feast, Ned reacted quite the same, assuring her, “Gendry’s a grown man, he can handle Margaery.” But it couldn’t soothe Arya’s nerves. At all. Rather the opposite. That viper had smirked far too pleased.

Hence, she found herself scowling and digging her nails into her palms, all the while he and Margaery danced together. Why was he smiling at her like a fool? She was up to something, couldn’t he see? Yet, fortunately Sansa’s jealousy got the better of her, and made her lure her prince into the gardens after her dance with him. Yet, seeing Ser Lancel leading Lady Margaery from the Great Hall right after, convinced Arya quickly to for once follow her sister’s example, feigning to need fresh air herself.

Only, she and Ned weren’t long in the gardens, when he caught her working her lower lip and playing absentminded with her wolf pendant. “That’s a rather exceptional necklace, you’re wearing today.” he remarked then prompt.
“It is…” Arya replied, her scowl still fixed on her sister and Margaery duelling one another for the crown prince’s attention.
“I’ve to admit, I’m kind of surprised, Arya. I never thought you someone to care for jewellery.” Ned went on, causing her to face him.
“I don’t.” she looked at him slightly outraged.
“Yet, you seem to care for this one?” he nodded at her hand still holding the pendant. What was everyone’s goddamn problem with this tiny piece of silver? Lady Catelyn had inquired about the necklace just before the feast as well.

“And?” Arya almost growled, narrowing her eyes now. She just wasn’t used to wearing it, yet. No need for everyone to make such a fuss about it.
“Um, you see, it makes me wonder…” Ned seemed abashed, though watched her closely, “May I ask who gave it to you?” Seriously?
“My brother. Jon.” Arya claimed once more. Persuading herself, it were for the best, she told him the same story as Sansa and their lady mother. Lest her mother felt like inviting him to their table throughout the entire tourney. “It was meant for my nameday. But I couldn’t wait any longer…” she went on, trying not to blush with shame. What the hells was wrong with her? Why was she lying to Ned? Her best friend… Arya wanted to punch herself.

Still, Ned chuckled amused at that. “Don’t worry, my lady, your secret’s safe with me. Well, as long as you don’t expect to get all your gifts early now.” he teased, yet got instantly serious again, “Since, I’d hoped to invite you and your family to Starfall after your nameday. Where my gift’s waiting for you.” What? When Arya only stared at him dumbfounded, he quickly added, “But I can have it sent here… if you don’t like the idea.”
“You’re inviting me to Dorne?” Arya asked incredulous.
“Yes.” he confirmed, still somewhat sheepish, “So, what do you think, would you like to see Starfall?”
“Um, I don’t know… I suppose.” she muttered, still processing his suggestion. Before she eventually questioned, “Can we go riding sand steeds there?”
“We can do whatever you like.” he laughed, “We can go riding, climbing, sailing or just spar all day long. I’m the lord there and I say it’s all your decision. So, do you want to come visit my home?”
“I so do!” Arya grinned mischievous, “I can’t wait to see my mother’s face when we do all those things.”
“Well, I actually hoped, you would’ve convinced her to refrain from chaperoning us by then.” Ned mocked laughing.
“Apologies, my lord, but I can’t make any promises for that matter.” Arya teased back. “Will we go by ship or take the road?”
“Um, I’d say we go there by ship and return on horseback. And maybe we could invite your brothers, too—”
“Oh, yes, please, do that!” Arya took both his hands, now completely giddy with excitement. “I mean, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, but Bran could surely come… and maybe Rickon? Oh, that would actually be perfect, no one keeps Mother better out of my hair than that little monster.”
“Then I’ll better arrange everything with your lord father—” Ned chuckled amused and squeezed her hands.

“Are congratulations in order already?” Margaery called suddenly from the side, causing them both to pull their hands away startled.
“Huh?” Arya blurted puzzled, before Sansa’s overjoyed grin made her realise what they assumed. “No! No…” Arya rolled her eyes annoyed and clarified, “No, Ned simply invited me— well, us, the whole family, to Starfall after my nameday.”

At which Margaery’s complacent smirk made instantly way for an entirely false smile. Whereas Prince Gendry’s mien did nigh the opposite, his affected smile turned almost into his real one. His nice one… Only Sansa’s countenance didn’t change a bit, she still seemed absolutely delighted. “I’d be honoured to host you in my home, Sansa.” Ned proclaimed swiftly. But of course, Margaery had to ruin it again.
“What a wonderful idea!” she chirped, “Though, we shall miss your company dearly, Sansa. Won’t we, my prince?” Wiping Sansa’s smile off of her face with lightning speed. That bloody viper.

“Nonsense.” the crown prince retorted, shocking Sansa for a moment afore he continued, “I’ve a better idea.” He turned smirking to Ned, “Lord Dayne’s invited me and my siblings to Starfall now countless times, yet our visit still pends. So, say, old friend, shan’t we kill these two birds with one stone then? If my siblings and I, and the Lady Margaery and Ser Loras just came along as well?” And while Sansa’s face brightened with each of his words, Margaery obviously had trouble keeping up her straight face. Only, Ned looked even unhappier than her. He clenched his fist and exchanged a look with Arya, before he locked eyes with the prince.
“Indeed, Your Grace, how could I forget about that?” he almost snarled, forcing himself to smile at Margaery then, “And of course, I gladly extend my invitation to you and your brother as well, my lady.”
“Oh, how wonderful! What an adventure this’s going to be… for all of us.” The snake proclaimed, her voice somewhat shrill now. Sansa and that stupid idiot of a prince were evidently the only ones actually happy with this outcome. Fools. Both of them.

“Ned, I’m so, so sorry.” Arya muttered abashed, once the three imbeciles walked away again, busily planning their Dornish adventure now. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
“Wasn’t your fault.” Ned sighed sullen.
“We could always outrun them, you know, with the sand steeds? Have our own adventures?” Arya tried to cheer him up.
“That we will, my lady.” Ned assured, unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. That bloody viper had to ruin just everything… over a stupid prince!

So, Arya decided to ruin whatever she could for Margaery in return. At dawn she picked up Gendry’s next message, reading, “Did you just commission me with a suit of armour for yourself? P.S. You wore it, I had not expected that.”
To which she answered, “I did, no fancy mirrors though. P.S. Why would I not? It is my sigil.” Afore she added a post post scriptum of her own then, “A certain viper says, you seem changed of late. That snake is up to no good, and you fool invited her along.” In hope, he would be more careful around Margaery now.

Before mere hours later, the jousting competition began. And as expected, Arya found it hard to watch as well. Seeing once more, She would’ve stood a chance. With a bit of luck. If she hadn’t drawn someone as talented as Loras, or a jousting veteran such as Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan, or someone large as Ser Gregor or his only slightly less impressive brother for her first opponent. Then, she surely would have made it through the first day.

Like Tommen did, who provided her only delight that day, once he unhorsed his cousin Lancel within one single tilt – in his very first tourney joust. As it could’ve been hers. Wherefore, the young prince then also remained the only contestant, Arya didn’t envy for his victory that day.

Fortunately, the second jousting day became easier to endure. Because of Gendry’s latest message, mostly. “In that case, come see me after the tournament. P.S. Are you worried about me? I feel flattered.” this one said.
Of course, his post scriptum made her roll her eyes and reply, “No, just a friendly warning, stupid.” But the first part made her wonder, Did he mean it? Would he really make her armour? Or was he only jesting? But he said he would’ve made her a sword. Unless that was a jape too. But he knew she wanted to compete. And sounded sorry, she couldn’t. Or was he jesting then as well? But Renly and Edric could’ve told him, she was good… and he certainly was bold enough to ignore her mother's wishes. They could hide her armour in her practice vault. And if it were plain like his practice armour, she could perhaps even spar with the men in the mornings…

By the time she and her family arrived at the arena that day, Arya was certain, he meant it and got her hopes up, Just a few more days. Then she would’ve Needle back. And soon even a suit of armour of her own, a real one now. No longer a bizarre collection of pieces that her brothers had outgrown. Better armour than all of her brothers, better even than her father’s, Arya told herself over watching the second contest day’s first duels.

Tommen amazed the audience once more, this time by outscoring that obnoxious Ser Meryn within four tilts. Proving now, his victory over Ser Lancel hadn’t been sheer luck. The youngest prince took evidently not only in looks after his Lannister uncle. Unlike his fuckwit sibling.

Joffrey got unhorsed by the black knight during their third tilt. Arya had to bend over in her seat at that, so the prince wouldn’t see, she was snorting with laughter whilst he spit with rage – clearly oblivious whom had actually bested him. Though, naturally that made Sansa watch her closely again, still fearing something could be going on between Arya and the mystery knight.

However, seeing the crown prince then face off the Mountain – the largest man she had ever seen – Arya was somehow glad, she had her sister there. Sansa instantly reached for her hand to hold, whispering frightful, “Please, tell me, he can do it. I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“Sure, he can. He’s a good rider, jousting’s mostly horsemanship.” Arya placated her sister, as well as her own suddenly racing heart. “And his armour will keep him safe. You needn’t worry.”

But the Stark sisters weren’t the only ones concerned then. The king had for a change put his wine goblet aside and stood now at the railing of his loge. Gripping the wood with both hands, to hide his tenseness. Unlike his wife. The queen looked, as though she wanted to pull her son from his horse now any moment. Even the ever overconfident Lady Margaery held her breath, when the two men started charging at each other. Whereas Sansa wasn’t even able to watch it. She squinted her eyes shut every time the lances were about to collide on the respective other, until the crowds’ cheering signalled her, her prince was fine.

Afore eventually in their fifth tilt, he managed to outscore Ser Gregor. Causing a wave of relieved sighs and murmurs go through the audience, and once again when the Mountain furiously rode from the arena then, ignoring all proprieties. Arya had heard of his meltdown after the last tourney, when Ser Loras had defeated him; riding a mare in heat, gossip claimed. Which Arya thought a lame excuse, Her stallion could scent mares in heat all he wanted, she would still make him do her bidding first. Nevertheless, she understood now, why the queen forbid Ser Gregor to compete in melees, when her sons participated. And therefore, Arya was all the more impressed, how he hadn’t even flinched at facing that abomination of a man.

Yet, naturally he got it wrong again, flattering himself in his next message, “Today, you were worried about me. At first. For afterwards, you swooned. I saw it.”
“You know, what I saw? A blacksmith gone stone-cold crazy.” she answered, shaking her head over his incurable teasing attitude.
But then she flushed in shock at his following reply, “Still, you like him. Possibly even more than that.” No, absolutely not! Never.
“You wish.” Arya retorted indignant. That stupid bull-headed fool…

Nonetheless, her heart flipped as soon as he came into view on the third jousting day. And even more, when she watched him defeat his opponent then as well, entering thus the last eight round. Still, she tried to blame her inner flurry on the fact that he had managed to amaze her with his fighting skills and riding. He wasn’t the fastest ride, at least not as fast as her. But he was good, really good. Good enough to win, Arya realised that day.

Whereas Ned then suddenly outscored the blue mystery knight, during their sixth tilt, entering the quarter final hence too. Which of course made Sansa and Margaery torment Arya again at once. Using his anew victory for an excuse to recite his numerous assets to her. He was young. Handsome. Honourable. Kind. Talented. Courageous. Smart. Trustworthy. Loyal. Honest. And many things more, they praised him for. Concluding once more, there were no better match for Arya than him. Well, how about no match at all?

Even though, she fully agreed on all the mentioned qualities, she simply couldn’t on their final conclusion. They were just friends. Best friends, yet nothing else. And Arya knew, were she a man too, no one would even think all this nonsense about her and Ned. They would just be left in peace, then.

But Sansa and Margaery wouldn’t listen and claimed to know, Ned were madly in love with her. “If he wins, he’s so going to ask Father for your hand.” Sansa teased smirking, “Actually, I bet, he’s going to do so, no matter what. He’s proven himself more than worthy by now. And no other man would’ve had such patience with you. So, if you ask me—”
“Well, that’s just it! No one’s asking you, stupid.” Arya fumed and proclaimed once more, Ned were merely her friend. But again they only laughed at her.
“You gave him your favour, silly, what did you expect?”
“Not that! He knows, Mother made me do it.” Arya stated stubbornly, causing Sansa to cover her eyes with her palm over her supposed ignorance.

Still, their lady mother managed to up the ante. “It seems, your ribbon turned out a true lucky charm, hm?” Lady Catelyn remarked thrilled, once she dressed her daughter’s hair for the evening feast. All the while she overlooked Arya’s sullen mien intentionally, even though it practically screamed, I wish I could take that stupid thing back! “I mean, I still pray, Prince Gendry would crown your sister… but this, Lord Dayne doing so well, maybe even coming off the victor himself, I absolutely didn’t expect that.” Catelyn Tully babbled on, talking more to herself than to her fretted daughter. “You need to assure him tonight, Arya. Don’t let him doubt himself, or fear the morrow.” she advised.

And even Arya understood by now, were Ned to win, he would crown her with his wreath. Had to, because of that bloody ribbon. It simply left him no other option, or at least none that wouldn’t be seen as an insult of her or even entire House Stark. Perhaps she could endure it? It was just stupid flowers… But not to her mother. Catelyn Tully would only apply more pressure to her and Ned afterwards. She’d bully them into matrimony, no matter what. Arya raged internally, whilst her mother imperturbably weaved lilac pearls into her hair, as though it were her betrothal banquet already. Just one more day— No, only a couple more hours now until Needle would be returned to her. Forever, then. Arya had to reason with herself, to remain quiet throughout her mother’s overexcited monologues.

However, Lady Stark wasn’t the only one unwilling to leave anything to chance the next day. To Catelyn Tully’s great dismay, decided Ned to retire early that night. Right after the banquet, to get some rest before the morrow, he explained. Which naturally made Lady Catelyn scowl at her daughter, suspecting she would have done or said something that drove him away. Since those Dayne-lilac pearls in her hair couldn’t’ve scared him off, right? Arya thought cynical and suggested to her lord father and lady mother, then she should retire early as well. Like any obedient little wife would. And Ned swiftly came to her aid, asking permission to escort her back to the Tower of the Hand. Which naturally left her mother no other option but to call it, “An excellent idea.” It was! just not in the way Lady Stark thought.

She evidently mistook Ned’s friendly offer for an attempt to steal a kiss before his great day in the morrow. Hence, while her father bid him godspeed for his remaining tilts, Lady Catelyn whispered to her, “A small peck on the cheek can do wonders afore a man’s final jousts.” What? Arya gasped at her mother. “It’d be entirely within the scope of propriety after a half year long courtship.” Catelyn Tully added in response to her daughter’s speechless bewilderment. “Nothing more, of course. But I’m sure, with an honourable man like him, we’ve nothing to fear for that matter.” Unbelievable. Arya turned wordlessly away and signalled Ned with an eye-roll, She needed to get out of there. At once.

On their stroll through the nightly keep, finally out of sight and earshot of everyone else, Arya let her friend in on her little escape plan. How Ned, lest he would make it to the final round, should drop out during the first tilt; best by making it look as though he got unhorsed by his opponent then. “Or else, you’ll find yourself betrothed to me, quicker than you can blink.” Arya warned him, while Ned quietly listened and eventually at the Tower of the Hand wished her goodnight, with a simple kiss on the back of her hand. So much for pecks on cheeks…

Bidding Alyn and Wyl, who stood guard outside the tower then, contented goodnight, Arya now even looked forward to the jousting the next day. Now, that she had managed to put a spoke into Catelyn Tully’s wheel after all.

However, when she passed her father’s solar on her way to her chamber, something made her halt. It was past nightfall, and she was all alone in the upper storeys. Maybe… Arya lifted the wall-hanging and opened the hidden door behind, slipping quickly through. Only to feel two arms flinging around her. One’s hand covering her mouth and the other arm pulling her backwards by her waist. It instinctively made her push her feet off the wall in front of her, forcing her assailant to stumble against the opposite wall. “Shush, it’s just me.” he whispered and let go off her.
“What the fuck, Gendry?” Arya turned to face him, “What the hells are you doing here?”
“Lurking in the shadows, scaring passers-by.” he suggested chuckling, making her shove him. “Too soon, still?” he clucked his tongue amused.
“You were still at the feast once we left…” she hissed.
“Aye, but I thought it best to follow Lord Dayne’s shining example. Getting rest and all that.” he claimed tongue-in-cheek over re-lighting his lantern.
“You call this resting?” Arya snarled.
Making him arch his brows at her, “Hey, I just came here to leave this.” he pulled a small scroll of parchment from his doublet, “How should I’ve known you’d come here too now? It’s my time. Not yours, little wolf. So, the question’s rather, ‘What the hells are you doing here?’”

“Err, well…”
“You couldn’t wait to read this, huh?” he teased amused, compressing his lips to hide his growing grin as he handed her the parchment.
“No,” Arya growled embarrassed, “I just thought, with everyone still at the feast, I could spare me the trip in the morning. Nothing else.”
“Of course.” he retorted, still somewhat mocking. “But since we’re both here now, why don’t we speed up our conversation a bit?” he challenged roguish, “Go on, read it.” Causing Arya to bite her lip, to cope with her rapidly increasing tension.

She knew, how she reacted to some of his messages, and her gut instinct told her, This was one of those notes. Hence, she quickly spun away from him, not taking his lantern though. Which made him chuckle and step right behind her, to hold the light over her shoulder. He didn’t touch her at it. And still his breath against her neck caused hot and cold waves to ripple throughout her body, and a glaring red blush to creep up her neck. Which he hardly missed. Arya unrolled nervously the small parchment, only to read, “You wish.” in her own handwriting.
Rolling her eyes, Arya whirled around, “That’s my message, you idiot.” she handed him the scroll back.
“Oh, sorry.” he murmured slightly embarrassed and pulled out another scroll. Which she swiftly snatched from his hand to turn back around again. Causing him to repeat his previous action chuckling, holding the lantern for her to read once more.

And she was right, It was one of those messages. “I actually do.” she read and froze, despite feeling her heart and mind race at dizzying speed. Was he joking? He had to be… For why’d he want her to like him? Like him like that? Like Sansa did? And all those numb nuts—”
“What do you think?” he breathed into her left ear, setting her entire skin on fire. Her neck and ear, where his breath brushed her, felt as though she had got burned there. What was she supposed to say now? Gods, she knew it was one of those notes! Why hadn’t she just grasped it and ran?
“Um, err…” she had to swallow, twice. “That you’re lying?” she suggested quietly.
“What?” he gasped perplexed, “Why’d you think that?”
His reaction angered her. Arya spun around to glare at him, “Because you are! For this whole past moon, you talked of nothing else but wanting me to hold a torch for you, just like the rest of them fools here… as if it were some game to you—”

“It’s not.” he countered thunderstruck. Was he blushing? “Arya, I’m not lying. I lied to you once, in the vault when we met. Yet, never since, I swear.” he stammered seeming abashed, “And this, you and me, it’s no game… least not for me. Far from that, Arya.”
“Then why all that nonsense about besting Ned and asking me not to support him?” she demanded angry. Yet, he couldn’t hold her gaze anymore. She saw, he tried to say something, several times. But ultimately decided against it again, over and over.
Until he lastly burst out, “Because I want you to have a choice!” He scowled back at her now, “If he wins, he’ll ask for your hand and—”
“No, stupid! That’s just what Mother thinks.” Arya rolled her eyes, “Ned’s dropping out, should he make it to the final round. First tilt—”

“And you’re calling me stupid and a liar?” Gendry scoffed, shaking his head at her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she hissed outraged.
“That you’re the stupid one, if you believe that baloney about him dropping out.” he snarled at her.
“It’s no baloney! It was my idea.” Arya snapped fretted, “Ned I talked it over, just a moment ago.”
“Did you make him swear?” Gendry demanded, looking daggers at her now. Forcing her to drop her gaze and bite her lower lip once more. She hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t thought it necessary. Since this was Ned, he’d never—
“You didn’t, did you?” Gendry hissed, shaking his head over her supposed foolishness once more. Before he sighed, to tell her somewhat calmer, “Arya, he’s not dropping out. He wants to win… to prove himself worthy of you. He wants this betrothal as much as your mother—”
“Liar! You’re lying—” Arya hissed, fighting back the feeling that urged her to heed his warning.

“I’m not. Not about Ned, and not about me…my message I mean.” he locked eyes with her, “I’ll prove it to you. Tomorrow.” He brought his left hand to her right cheek, caressing it gently. His goddamn touch. Arya felt her legs turn to jelly, felt as though she were burning and melting from the inside under his hand, unable to escape. Worse even, a part of her urged her to lean in to his touch. Never make him stop. All she could do, was gaze up at him, while his eyes and fingers roamed over her face. To feel his thumb trace the outline of her lower lip for a moment, afore he gulped and blinked. “Goodnight, Arya.” he whispered and let go of her, to swiftly climb down the ladder in the corner. Leaving her thunderstruck behind, her right fingers reaching to her tingling lip, where his thumb had still lingered only a moment ago. Whilst the dim light of his lantern disappeared in the hole in the ground, to let darkness engulf her behind the hidden door again.

Once Arya eventually regained her composure, she rushed to her chamber and changed speedily into her nightdress. Lest her family could return from the feast now any moment. Out of fear, her mother would feel the need to check on her, to inquire about pecks on cheeks that never happened… No, there were no pecks on cheeks. Only something else, something far worse.

However, her family didn’t return to the Tower of the Hand for another two hours. Hours that Arya spent wide awake, with her mind racing. Revolving around him once more. Why’d he want her to like him like those numb nuts did? And why’d he want her to doubt Ned? What kind of person would do that, sabotage their best friend like that? But most of all, what was that at the end? Why’d he touch her like that? And why didn’t she stop him?

Whereas, her sister and their lord father and lady mother eventually returned, slipping under their own bed covers to drift off to sleep, Arya did not. Could not. She spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, brooding over that stupid bull-headed prince. She even snuck from her bed at dawn, Like the silly goose, she had indeed become. Stupidly hoping, she would find another scroll then. But she did not. Of course not, you bloody fool!

Arya was lastly even glad, when her lady mother came to wake her. For a brief moment, at least. Since Lady Catelyn naturally made no pretence, how disappointed she was that Ned hadn’t even asked for a kiss. Before she unsurprisingly concluded, Arya just wouldn’t tell her that he did. Nevertheless, this one little setback couldn’t stir Catelyn Tully from her resolve, and neither did the dark circles under her daughter’s eye, which she deliberately ignored over dressing Arya up for the day – after all, Lady Catelyn thought herself almost at the finish line now.

But she’d so miss the mark, Arya thought determined and decided to no longer brood on that stupid crown prince, or whatever he hoped to gain in all this. For he wouldn’t gain anything! Ned would stick to their bargain, and everything would go back to normal again in a few hours. she convinced herself. Needle was the only thing that mattered now. The only thing, she ought to focus on.

Though, of course Catelyn Tully tried her very best to annoy the hells out of her wayward daughter until then. Reminding her once more, she would loose Needle and her other treasures for good, should she dare to turn down Ned’s wreath this day; or get ideas of shooing the Lord of Starfall away for good. In which case, her lady mother vowed, she would make her watch the melting down of her beloved sword.

Yet, mere hours before Lady Catelyn was about to loose all her leverage over Arya, her threats sounded more like a last gasp now. And Arya knew, Catelyn Tully fumed inwardly over that fact. She had enjoyed, having her defiant daughter nicely bridled far too much. Yet, still it was all for naught. What a pity?

Nonetheless, her lady mother wasn’t the only one eager to drive Arya nuts that day. At the arena, Sansa and Margaery naturally also tried to pelt her about Ned, “Say, sweet Arya, aren’t the Red Keep’s lonely arcades and hallways perfect for stolen kisses at night?” the viper mocked smirking, before she and Sansa dissolved into giggles like twelve-year olds.
“Why? Do you two speak from experience?” Arya snapped, running low on patience, Owing to that sleep-stealing bull-headed idiot.
“Prince Gendry would never do that—” her sister objected immediately, blushing prettily.
“Kitchen staff says otherwise.” Arya scoffed and turned to Margaery, “What was her name again? Alayne? Alyce? Or was it Alysanne?” Careful now! his voice reprimanded in her mind.
“That’s not true!” Sansa contradicted her again, “Just nasty rumours, he’d never—”
“Well, if you say so…” Arya snorted and tried to ignore her and Margaery, fixing her eyes on the tourney ground instead, where the jousting was about to start then. Needle. Solely think of Needle, she tried to calm herself.

And it worked, for a while. Given most of her memories about her sword were connected to Jon, Arya soon reminisced about her favourite sibling. Jon ruffling her hair. Jon laughing at Robb, when she had bested him for the first time. Jon carrying her to bed after a feast, when she had been too tired to walk on her own. Jon quickly blocking her sight and covering her ears, when they had walked in on Theon and one of the servant wenches at the stables. And of course, Jon’s dumb face, when she had bested him for the first time… She hadn’t sparred with him in over a year now. Not since the day before he had left for the Wall. Gods, she’d give her left arm, if she could be with him now. Instead of in the stupid south, without even knowing, if she’d ever get to see him again— No, she didn’t want to think about that now.

And thus, it was Sansa and Margaery again. Who just then got their hopes up, seeing the crown prince outscore Trystane. Well, so much for supporting him and Myrcella… “Oh, my gods, Margaery, he’s in the semi-final! Just two more rounds for him to win—” Sansa lost it, causing Arya to roll her eyes and decide to rather go with Needle again. Though, she carefully avoided to think about Jon or anything else in the North now.

Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine a sparring session with Brienne. Until Sansa then noticed her moving hands in her lap, “What in the gods’ names are you doing now?” her sister chided annoyed, sounding quite like their mother.
“Sparring.” Arya retorted absently.
“Stop it, people are staring at you.”
Huffing, Arya opened her eyes and arched her brow at her sister, “What people?”
“Littlefinger.”
“Creep.” Arya snorted and turned to glare at the man, seated behind their lady mother in the royal loge. However, he only hinted a bow towards her and smiled at her. Falsely.

Unfortunately though, was Ser Barristan soon after outscored by Ned. Which naturally made Sansa and Margaery tease Arya once more. “Better keep your eyes wide open now, Arya.” the snake mocked her, “For you might find yourself with a wreath placed on your lap before long.”
“No need to worry about my lap, my lady. Ned’s not going to win.” Arya retorted stubbornly, yet slowly got an uneasy feeling in her gut then. And justifiably so, she realised once Ned managed to defeat Ser Jaime, outscoring him within only four tilts. What the fuck was wrong with the old knight? Why didn’t he put up more of a fight? Why even participate, if he didn’t mean to win? Bloody Lannisters…

And Sansa naturally went completely nuts at that, “Oh, my dear gods, Arya! Ned’s in the final round. Oh, my dear, he’s so going to crown you—”
“No, he won’t.” Arya growled infuriated. Not if he cared for his life! And all of a sudden, she found herself truly rooting for Gendry now. Who would’ve seen that coming? she mocked herself, as she furtively crossed her fingers while the crown prince duelled Loras. To feel a wave of relief wash over her, once he lastly managed to outscore The Knight of Flowers after seven tilts.

However, the pause until the final round, a whole damn hour! brought Arya then fully on edge. She’d get back at them, all of them. Mother. Sansa. Margaery. Ned. And of course, that stupid prince. First thing in the morrow, she’d come back at them. They wouldn’t know what hit them, when she was done with them, Arya promised herself, pacing back and forth in the meadows behind their stands. Where that bloody Littlefinger then decided, this were the perfect moment to poke his nose in. “My lady, if I didn’t know it any better, I’d think you’re afraid of losing a wreath of winter roses to your sister.” he approached her, displaying his complacent false smile again.
“Bollocks!” Arya spat. In hope, the son of a bitch would get the broad hint, to better not piss her off now. He didn’t, though. Of course…
“So, who do you keep your fingers crossed for, Lady Arya?” he stepped closer, “Your handsome Dornish suitor, who wears your favour? Or is it our dashing prince, who’s more to your liking?” he continued prying. Wrong question, absolutely wrong question. And absolutely wrong time to poke a raging wolf, arsehole.
“Myself!” Arya snarled livid, ready to strike the despicable creep down with his own dagger, “I could best them both, if small-minded men like yourself wouldn’t feel so threatened by little girls like me.”

Yet, right when he attempted to react to her insult, he just opened his mouth, applause sounded from behind him. “Well-spoken as usual, she-wolf.” the Lord of Storm’s End came to her aid. To place a heavy hand on Littlefinger’s shoulder a moment later, squeezing it. Threatening him. And the slippery bugger understood, quickly backing off. “I hope, I wasn’t interrupting anything.” Renly taunted chuckling, “But from over there, it looked quite like you were about to murder my brother’s Master of Coin.”
“Oh, I totally was.” Arya laughed, feeling instantly relieved, with Baelish now gone. That piece of shit was like a festering wound. Totally disgusting, yet absolute deadly.
“So, you’re still fretted, our little scheme got exposed, hm?” Renly questioned compassionately, but Arya only nodded. “Don’t worry, little wolf, next time we’ll be smarter.” he winked at her, surprising her. “Though, for now we’ll have to watch those two clumsy fools fight over silly garlands first.”

Luckily, had neither her lord father nor her lady mother left the stands during the pause. Allowing Arya to spend the rest of it with Renly now, whose excellent sense of humour quickly raised a few laughs from her. To distract her for a while from the invisible chain, she felt tightening around her neck, Like a hangman’s noose.

So, by the time she returned to her seat, left to Sansa and Margaery on the terrace, Arya actually dared to hope again. True, Ned hadn’t vowed to drop out. But he hadn’t refused it either, she tried to calm her inner tension. In vain, though.

Gendry and Ned charged at one another, their lances colliding on their respective shields, yet handsome Lord Dayne remained in his saddle. “Bloody Dornishman!” Arya burst out in furious disbelief, clenching her fists to not yell it across the entire arena.
“Arya!” Sansa slapped her right thigh reprimanding, without even looking at her. As both sisters’ eyes remained glued to the scene in front of them. Where both riders returned to their positions now, with Gendry shaking his head at it.

Afore in their second tilt, the crown prince even missed to hit. Wherefore logically Ned Dayne didn’t drop out then, either. Couldn’t! Even if he’d wanted to… Though, Arya doubted that now, digging her nails into her palms and clenching her jaw. Throughout their third and fourth tilt, both men scored, hitting their respective breastplates. And still, the Lord of Starfall remained on horseback. What the actual fuck, Ned? Arya fumed, tempted to hop from the stands to poke the Dornishman off his stallion herself now. While then in their fifth tilt, Gendry at least managed to draw level. Did these two fuckers think this someway funny?

After their sixth tilt, both missing, Arya got up and was about to leave. But Sansa caught her arm and snarled, “Sit down! And stay put, until I say otherwise.” Huffing and rolling her eyes, Arya obeyed. For Needle, she reminded herself. To watch sullenly, how Gendry finally managed to break the tie. Only to lose it again during their eighth tilt, when Ned managed to draw level. For fuck’s sake, were they even competing? Or just mocking her here? After their ninth tilt, both missing again, Arya was certain, They were evidently fucking with her! Knowing, now only the king could save her in declaring a victor. Which hopefully would be his son… but that’d look nepotistic! Oh gods, he’d chose Ned… She was so doomed, she could just as well nail herself into a coffin tonight.

But obviously, she was the only one feeling that way. The audience in the arena went mental in their cheering. No one had expected these two finalists, of whom neither had ever even reached a quarter final before. Oddly. And least of all for Ned Dayne to stand his ground against the bigger crown prince for so long, even equal in scores.

However, then it lastly happened. During their tenth tilt. For Arya now entirely out of the blue, she hadn’t paid attention anymore. She had just sullenly stared into space, thinking, This truly better was one of their stupid tricks, they so bloody loved to brag about— “Oh, my— Arya!” her sister cried out of a sudden, grasping her thigh and rousing her from her straying thoughts.
“What?” Arya looked up, seeing Ned get back onto his feet.

The Dornishman threw his helmet livid towards the stands of the commoners, before his shoulders slouched and he slowly turned around, locking eyes with her. Fuck… Only a moment ago, Arya had been flaming mad at him, ready to tear him apart as soon as she got hold of him. But the look on his face now – utter despair – swept away her anger within the blink of an eye.

“Oh, my gods! Oh, my gods! Arya, it’s winter roses!” Sansa shook her, wholly over the moon now. Drawing her attention back to the crown prince, whose youngest squire just then ran towards him, carrying a small black pillow with indeed a wreath of blue winter roses.
“Congratulations, Sansa.” Margaery breathed clearly shocked.
“Yes, congratulations, sister.” Arya muttered absent, her gaze locked with Ned’s again. “Am I allowed to go now?”
“What? Why?” Sansa questioned puzzled.
“Ned. I want to talk to him.” Arya pleaded.
“Oh.” Sansa cast a quick glance at the young lord, who watched now with clenched fists, how Gendry removed his helmet and gauntlets. Handing them to his squire in exchange for the frost-blue flowers. “Err, yes, of course. Go, talk to him.”

Only, she didn’t get far. Just a couple of steps up the terrace, once she heard him calling, “Lady Arya!” causing her to freeze in her step. “Don’t you want to be my Queen of Love and Beauty?”

Chapter Text

Bloody hells! She hadn’t seen that coming. And going by the ear-splitting silence that suddenly surrounded her, no one else had. Arya could feel their eyes on her, every single pair in the arena seemed to be turned towards her now. Staring at her or trying to get a glimpse of her, if their sight was blocked. It made her skin crawl and her ears buzz so loud and dizzying that for the first time in her life, Arya feared, she might faint. No! She was no damn fainting weakling lady. She was Arya Stark, the She-wolf of Winterfell. She didn’t faint. Least of all now. Or else they’d get it all wrong— “Lady Arya?” a much closer voice roused her from her thoughts. Renly. Reminding her, she was supposed to answer the question. Damn, there was no way out of this. Least no good one.

She even started trembling then. For fuck’s sake, you don’t tremble. Ever! Arya chided herself and clenched her fists to dig her nails into the palms, desperate to regain her composure. It helped, steadying her enough to slowly turn around. To him, and the gaping crowd. Still, it felt like an eternity before she eventually managed to look up from her skirt’s hem. For her eyes to find Sansa’s. She looked so incredibly hurt. And yet her sibling silently pleaded with her, to not do something stupid now, to not make things even worse. Forgive me, sister.

Arya swallowed, to get rid of the lump in her throat, before she lastly dared to face him. He had his head slightly cocked and looked tense, anxious even, with traces of an almost faded smile still visible on his face. He studied her, looking as though he tried to read her mind, whereas his steed underneath him got restive over his rider’s sudden intensity.

Stupid bull-headed idiot! So much for wanting her to have a choice… what damn choice did this leave her? Arya wanted to yell at him. Hit him, again and again. For forcing this on her. But her voice was merely a whisper and, “No.” the only word she lastly managed to utter. Still, he had heard it. Arya could tell. His jaw dropped somewhat and his lashes fluttered bewildered, as if unsure he had heard her right.
Until Sansa’s thunderstruck outcry, “Arya!” confirmed it to him and everyone else.
Which then made her sister add an apologetic, “Your Grace.” accompanied by a swift curtsy, before she dropped her gaze to the floorboards underneath her feet. Arya desperately wanted to flee the scene. But the murmur going through the flabbergasted crowd now, somehow pinned her to her spot – never in her life had she felt so exposed and vulnerable.

She literally felt like a caged animal now. About to lash out any moment then, at anyone. Just to get away. How? Doesn’t matter, just run. Now! Only, then a somewhat hurt, “Why?” reached through to her. Why, what? Arya looked up baffled and found the prince looking at her absolutely crestfallen. Fuck, now she was trapped for good. Feeling her face flush glaring red, she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, or anyone else there. Her eyes searched frantically for something they could focus on, yet solely found the floorboards of the terrace again, the while she tried to figure out the least insulting way to answer his stupid ‘Why?’. What was there not to understand? He’d asked her a question, and she’d answered. As clear as day. And if he’d paid any attention to her throughout these past moons, he could’ve spared them both this public embarrassment.

“Um, because…” Arya reluctantly began, “Well, err, thing is… I don’t want to be… you know, Queen of Love and Beauty.” What halfwit came up with that ridiculous title anyway? Just speaking it out aloud made her want to hit something, preferably everyone gawking at her now. Starting with that stupid bull-headed princeling. Arya huffed angrily and decided, given she already was at it now and for a change had actually everyone’s ear, she should get things straight once for all. Her mother and Sansa would be mad at her now anyway.

Therefore, she looked up again and tried to stand tall and proud, when she locked eyes with the crown prince once more. To announce calm, yet as loud and clear as possible, “In fact, Your Grace, I don’t want to be any sort of queen, or lady.” Causing him to nod quietly in defeat. “The wolf hunt is over now, for everyone.” Arya added and glanced at the tourney ground behind him, where Ned had still stood only moments ago. But he was gone now.

However, she had no time to think on that then. Arya had barely finished speaking, when waves of scandalised gasps and murmurs spread around her and Catelyn Tully’s livid voice rang out. “Arya Stark,” she snarled, “you will apologise to Prince Gendry and the royal family at once.” Her lady mother fumed, as predicted. Good. Something familiar, something she actually knew to deal with.
Feeling her own anger boil up in return, Arya scowled furious at the prince and spat, “For what?” her voice finally returning to its full strength. He’d brought this onto himself. He’d decided to corner her, in front of everyone. Knowing bloody well who she was… You can’t corner a wolf and expect it not to bite, idiot!
“Young lady—” Lady Catelyn tried to chide her anew.

But Arya was livid now too. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She speedily shifted her glare from the speechless prince to Catelyn Tully standing outraged in the royal loge. “What, Mother?” she snarled, now fully losing it. “You made sure, I couldn’t compete. You made me watch, front row, noon to supper. Every single day, for the whole damn fortnight. And I did it! No back-talking. Behaving all proper. Wearing all the silly dresses, you put me in. Smiling at everyone you told me to. I even put a fucking ribbon on Ned’s arm, because you wanted it. Because you promised, if I’d do all that, I’ll get my blades and armour back. And I did, I kept my end of the bargain. Accepting his bloody flowers, though…” she pointed at the crown prince, without even once averting her glance from her lady mother, “was never any part of our deal. So, no, Mother, I won’t apologise. He asked and I declined. Politely even, if you hadn’t noticed. And I don’t see any fault in that…”

Yet, as soon as she was done venting her bottled-up anger, Arya felt hot angry tears well up in her eyes. Now she’d lost Needle for real. And her stallion undoubtedly, too. All because of him, that deceiving fucking liar… She didn’t belong here, and never would.

Only, Catelyn Tully didn’t see it that way. She turned panicking to her husband, “Ned, talk some sense into her.” But the thunderstruck Hand of the King didn’t even seem to hear his wife. Eddard Stark supported himself on the wooden backrest of his seat and stared petrified with horror at their defiant daughter. All colour drained from his face, he looked as if he were about to collapse any moment – as though he had seen a ghost. “Ned,” Lady Catelyn shook him, trying to get his attention, “do something.”

However, the Warden of the North never got the chance to reprimand Arya, for of a sudden the king’s roaring guffaw resounded in the arena, startling father and daughter alike. “Damn, girl, you’ve guts!” Robert snorted with laughter, “Not just the pretty thing, my son mistook you for, huh?”
“You think this funny, Father?” Joffrey spat outraged, “She insulted him, she insulted us—”
“She did no such thing!” his older brother snapped right away, causing Arya to scowl at him once more. She didn’t need to be rescued. Least of all by him—
Though, before she could tell him so, the king spoke again. “You shut your mouth! The girl simply didn’t want the bloody flowers.” he scolded his younger son, “And unlike certain others here, your brother knows to take a hit.” Robert turned to her lady mother then, his voice promptly calmer and softer, “No harm was done here, Cat, rest assured.” Before he addressed Arya once more, seeming more serious than she had ever seen him, “You look like her, my Lyanna. She loved flowers. But you’re different. You’re a fierce one, I see that now. More’s the pity, she never had a chance to refuse his damn wreath that maledict day at Harrenhal…”

Unsure what to say to that, Arya glanced questioning to her father. Who had sunken back into his seat now, gazing into space, entirely lost in thoughts. “Don’t worry, girl, you’re not in trouble.” the king assured, yet studied her somehow saddened now.

Whereas the queen and Joffrey’s countenances spoke volumes, both of them glared at her, making no efforts to conceal their contempt. Though, naturally they weren’t the only ones struggling to keep up a straight face. Lady Stark’s false smile scarcely hid her burning anger, she looked like she wanted to skin her wayward daughter alive now. So, Arya just quickly curtsied, “Thank you, Your Grace.” Before she dropped her gaze to the floorboards once more, not knowing what to do next. She still felt uncountable eyes on her and heard the people’s outraged murmurs. Couldn’t this all just turn out a bad dream, which she could forget about in the morrow?

“Go on, son, put that wreath onto someone else’s lap, and let’s be done with it.” the king commanded. Yes, please, let’s be done with it. Arya was dying to finally get to leave the arena. She stroked anxiously the red crescents in her palms, as she waited for him to find himself another Queen of Love and Beauty. Yet, nothing happened, for what felt like another eternity. What took him so long? This goddamn arena was full of pretty girls, particularly the front rows. Nevertheless, he didn’t move. Until of sudden Arya understood his quandary, anyone he would choose now, would always be known as his second choice. Next best was no compliment! Maybe even an insult to certain women. Like Margaery Tyrell, who indeed seemed to duck away now, busying herself with comforting the still shocked Sansa. Next best was not the true Queen of Love and Beauty— Seven hells, that was still her! Despite that she had refused his flowers. That stupid bull-headed prince… Sansa would never forgive her for this.

Before she knew, Arya dug her nails once more into her palms and scowled at him again, whilst he stared at the crown of winter roses in his lap. His brows furrowed, he sucked on his lower lip and trailed along one flower’s outline with his thumb. What was his goddamn problem? How could he drive this stupid flowery wedge between two sisters? Had Sansa not hated her already enough? Why did he have to insult her like that? And hadn’t he once told her, he wouldn’t want to disrespect Sansa? What else was this then, you stupid fucker?

Arya got so consumed by her raging thoughts, she at first didn’t notice, he lastly found himself another Queen of Love and Beauty. Until she saw him kneeling in the royal loge, avoiding further scandal by placing the wreath onto his sister’s lap. Making the king beam with pride once more, “That’s my son! Brave and strong and yet smart enough to outwit us all. Well done, lad.” He pulled his firstborn back to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder. Even the queen looked somehow appeased with this outcome now. Yes! No one would ever dare to call Myrcella second best. “And now it’s time for the feast!” the king roared a moment later, “To celebrate our champion, my son and heir!”

Then at last, seeing and hearing the people cheer the crown prince once more, Arya’s feet obeyed her will again. About bloody time. She spun around and quickly made for the stairs. Over the king shouting, “Eat, drink and dance, and make this city’s whores walk bow-legged the morrow—” Arya descended from the terrace and froze again. Where should she go?

The arena was surrounded by wide meadows. While dozens of squires and servants busted about behind and below the stands, to get their masters quickly back to the palace. Not to mention the two eagle-eyed Kingsguard knights at the stairs right to her. Damnit! She couldn’t just sneak away. At least not without someone noticing whereto. Not in this stupid dress anyway, which her lady mother had made her wear that day.

“A Stark and Dayne colour.” Lady Catelyn had pointed out in the morning. Aye, the Stark colour that suited her the least, Arya had sullenly thought then; understanding now once and for all why.
“Arya, wait!” he appeared atop the stairs behind the royal loge. He had to be jesting…

Arya glanced frantically around and fled swiftly under the terraces. “Arya, please, wait!” she heard him calling once more, and given the nearing sounds of clanking steel, he had followed her under the stands. Bloody bull-headed idiot.

Where he eventually found her, crouched down in a dark corner in a storage room – the dead end of her alleged escape route. “Wearing white doesn’t exactly do the trick for lurking in the shadows.” he teased quietly and squatted down in front of her. Probably realising, smart-aleck remarks wouldn’t appease her. Given she only glared at him, ready to murder him. He was lucky, he still wore his stupid armour. Or else she undoubtedly would have started hitting him, the moment he set foot into the room.

“Arya, I swear, I didn’t mean to embarrass you or put pressure on you.” he claimed sighing, “It’s just, with my mother and the Tyrells and all the other schemers at court… and then your mother and Ned speeding things up… Arya, I had no choice. It’s the only way to get them all to back off, to give you… us more time—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” she hissed livid.
“Us, Arya, you and me. We were running out of time—” he sounded almost desperate, and reached for her hands clenching her knees.
“There’s no us!” she spat with ice in her voice, pulling her hands behind her back.
“Deny it all you want, deep down you know there is.” he countered seemingly hurt, “Arya, I had to do it. I couldn’t just stand by and watch… watch you become his, Arya, I—”
“Your Grace,” her father snarled once stepped into the room, startling Arya and the prince alike. “this’s hardly appropriate, and I believe my daughter has made herself perfectly clear.”

“Lord Stark,” he stood up at once, “I… I meant no disrespect, I—”
“Arya, we’re leaving.” Eddard Stark commanded and stared the younger yet taller man down, causing him to step aside abashed. So, her father could drag her from her lousy hideout, “Come, child.”
Only, they were barely out of the room, when the prince called after them, “Lord Stark, might I have a word with you afore the feast?”
It made Ned Stark stop in his track and whirl around infuriated. “Of course, Your Grace, but the outcome will likely be the same.” he hissed brief, and dragged Arya hastily through the wooden hallways out from underneath the stands. Whilst they heard metal clanking and wood splintering inside the storage room behind themselves. Hopefully from smashing his stupid head in.

However, afore they actually stepped out from under the terraces, her father stopped again. “Why were you in there with him?” he demanded dead-serious.
“Because that stupid twerp followed me there, obviously.” Arya snapped defensively, “I was just hiding—”
“Did he try something?” Of course, her bloody reputation was the most important again.
“He didn’t touch me…” today. She retorted fretted, “If that’s what you mean. He was just talking—”
“Are you sure about that? I think, I heard quite a bit of his talking.”
“Yes, Father, he was just talking.” she huffed, “Apologising, I suppose.” Though, clearly sucked at it.

Her lady mother and sister awaited them at their carriage behind the stands, both evidently struggling to keep a straight face. Sansa’s countenance was a mixture of hurt and disbelief, whereas their mother’s face was hard as steel, looking daggers at Arya. Who instantly felt anew anger boil up inside of her at the sight, causing her to clench her fists once more, in frustration over her own stupidity this time. Arya knew, she could’ve easily avoided all of this. Had she just stood up sooner, Only a mere instant. Had she paid attention during the last tilt, then she could have been off the terrace, before that fucker even got to his stupid wreath. Yet, now she would lose everything. All her treasures gone for good… and Sansa, she’d undoubtedly hate her for the rest of their lives. All because of him. That bloody deceiving liar!

But at least her sister and mother spared the anew public haranguing now – or rather themselves the further humiliation at it. At first, no one even said a word on their carriage ride back to the royal palace. All four of them stared absentminded into space, trying to understand what had just happened mere moments ago.

Though, eventually Sansa started scowling at her, with growing hatred. Until Arya no longer could stand it, “I don’t know why he did it, Sansa. I didn’t mean for this to happen…” she burst out, halfway expecting her sister would lash out at her.
Yet, instead, her sister shifted her glare to their father beside Arya and hissed, “Why did you bring her here?” Before she whipped her head around, to snarl at their mother, “And why did you make her attend the tourney? All dolled up like that?” She nodded dismissively at Arya, “I was supposed to be the pretty one, the one to catch his eye—”
Shocking both their parents, “Sansa!” they gasped in unison.
But she just ignored them, “You should’ve left her in the North! She doesn’t belong here, she ruined everything, she ruined my life…”

Although, Arya agreed with almost every of her words, the venom dripping from her sister’s lips now uttering them, hurt. Like a knife to the heart. Thus, once Sansa started sobbing uncontrollably an instant later, clinging to their mother’s embrace, Arya turned to glare at Catelyn Tully. This was your doing, as much as his.

Until of a sudden their father spoke, “She’s right, Cat.” causing his wife to look at him aghast. “Not with everything.” Ned Stark quickly corrected, before he continued, “But bringing Arya here was a mistake, and I think it’s time for her to go home now.” He dumbfounded all three women. Did he really mean it? Arya stared at him in disbelief. Just like that, of a sudden?
“Ned, we agreed on this, she can no longer carry on like this.” his wife objected prompt, “She needs to marry eventually—”
“But not him.” her husband snapped furious.
“Oh, don’t be silly! After that outburst, humiliating him in front of—”
“He asked to see me. Tonight, before the feast.” Eddard Stark countered disgruntled.
“What? When?” Sansa and his wife gasped.
“He was with her, under the stands.” he told them reluctant. Causing Sansa to pierce Arya with her eyes, as if she hoped her glare would gouge her sister’s eyes out.

“I didn’t do anything! He followed me there…” Arya blurted reflexively, “I’ll go home. First light in the morning, I’m gone. I promise.”
“No, you’re not, you fool! He’s going to ask for your hand.” Sansa spat hateful, making Arya’s ears buzz again, unwilling to digest what her sister indicated. No! This was a nightmare, just had to be. This wasn’t real, couldn’t be… it made no sense.
“We don’t know that yet, Sansa.” their lady mother tried to placate. “Maybe he just wants to assure your father, he harbours no grudge against your sister or House Stark. But until we know, there can’t be any talk of Arya going home—”
“No! You can’t make me stay, Father said—” Arya objected outraged. That fucking prince was ruining her life.
“He’s the crown prince, Arya, our future king.” Catelyn Tully went on unwavering, “Should he propose marriage—”
“I don’t care who the fuck he is, I won’t marry him.” Arya snapped infuriated, “And you can’t make me—”
“Mother, you can’t be serious?” Sansa drowned her out, despairing now for good, “She’d make an awful queen—”
“Girls, we’ve to handle this carefully.” Lady Catelyn shot their father a warning glance, “We can’t risk to insult the crown. And if he should request her hand, we can’t refuse him—”
“No, Mother,” Arya fumed, spilling angry tears now herself, “You can melt Needle down a thousand times… I won’t do it!”

Only, right then they passed the gates of the Red Keep. Truly, her gilded cage now. And her very own mother would lock her up inside and throw away the key, if that fucking prince… He’d said, he wanted her to have a choice, and she’d walked unsuspectingly into his trap, like the bloody fool she indeed was…

As soon as their carriage came to halt in the courtyard, Sansa was out of it, to run to her chamber, locking herself in. Whereas, Arya only realised that they had stopped, when her father wiped away her tears. At that, she darted from the carriage as well, following her sister’s example willingly for once. She passed the already dumbfounded Heward and Tom outside the Hand’s Tower and almost toppled Desmond on the stairs, before she could slam her own chamber door behind herself. Only to realise, her key was gone. That bloody hawk of a mother had expected this! only with another man causing it.

Just you wait, Mother. Fully livid then, Arya pulled and shoved her trunks to her door to bar it. At least, now those tons of stupid dresses proved useful for once. Before she lastly slumped down onto the floor behind the last one, determined to hold her chamber door with her own body weight as long as she could.

Only, her fury seemed to give way to something else after a while. Something, Arya couldn’t really name. It had all been a lie… a deceit. She’d thought him a stag, no threat to a wolf. At least, not to the kind of wolf she was. When in truth he was a lion, digging his teeth into her throat now. How could she have been so blind? So stupid? But more so, how could he do this to her? She’d thought him a friend. A true friend, even. Had trusted him. Worse! She’d liked him. A lot. Like no one else before. She’d thought his smile the most beautiful sight in the world. His touch the most exciting sensation, she’d ever felt. And his eyes, never had she seen anything more intriguing. She could’ve lost herself in their endless blue and wouldn’t’ve minded. She could’ve spent the rest of her life with him at the forge. Watching him work. His muscles moving under his skin. His brows furrowing. Him sucking on his lower lip, as he bent steel to his will. Shaping it into the finest art pieces, whilst he listened to her silly tales of Winterfell, as though they weren’t childish nonsense at all… It had all been a lie. Just a vicious trick, he’d played on her. That deceiving fucking liar…

Thus, by the time her father and mother came to talk to her again, Arya was so lost in thought, she hadn’t even heard them knocking. Only Lady Catelyn’s indignant yelling, “Young lady, you’ll open this door at once!” reached lastly through to her. Yeah, sure, as though she hadn’t learned her lesson today? Arya thought sullenly in response.
However, once she remained silent, her father called, “I’ve Needle here with me.”
“Good for you! Threatening to melt it down though, won’t do the trick now anymore.”
“No one’s going to melt it down.” her lord father claimed, “But you need to open your door, if you want it back.”
“Do you think me that stupid?” Arya snarled scornful.
“It’s not a trick, child, I swear it to the old gods.”

And indeed, her father stood there with Needle in his hand, once she had removed the trunks and cautiously opened the door. “Why?” she inquired wary, studying both her parents.
“We agreed on what happened today wasn’t your fault, at least not the part before your outburst. And I believe, the latter mainly happened owing to your state of shock.” her father proclaimed. While Arya kept a close watch on her mother’s steely face, waiting for her outraged tirade to erupt. Yet, somehow it failed to materialise, causing Arya’s frown to deepen. “May we come in?” Eddard Stark questioned, causing his daughter to quietly step aside. Arya slumped down onto one of her trunks and folded her arms in front of her chest, hoping this wouldn’t be about what she feared it was.

Her father placed Needle carefully on her bed and sat down next to Arya, “Prince Gendry was here to see me.” But it was, of course.
“What did he want?” she growled absently, gazing through her window into space.
“He requested your hand in marriage.” Catelyn Tully retorted frigid. Of course.
“And you gave in?” Arya scoffed bitter, shaking her head. That’s why they returned Needle, to lull her. Hoping, she’d cave in then. Like the stupid little girl, they thought her—

“No.” her father countered calm. Huh?
Arya stared incredulous at him and then at her mother, “But you said—”
“His suggestion, not mine.” Lady Stark added clearly displeased, causing Arya to look back at her father.
“Gendry’s.” Eddard Stark clarified. What? “It’s true, he proposed marriage. But he also asked me to postpone any decisions regarding your hand for a while. Apparently, he wants a chance to woo you properly.”
“Apparently.” her lady mother scoffed peeved.
“And you said ‘No’ to that?” Arya asked guarded.
“No, I agreed to that.” Huh?
“Giving you another six moons, to shoo him and every other suitor away.” her mother hissed disapproving, yet her daughter barely heard her.
“What game is he playing?” Arya thought aloud, furrowing her brow bewildered.
“That’s the question, indeed.” Catelyn Tully scowled reproachful at her husband.

Chapter Text

She had hoped, her mother would see reason. Had hoped, she were allowed to skip the feast, to clear her mind. To find a way out. But Catelyn Tully knew no mercy, not when it came to the ambitions she had for her daughters. Why was she even surprised? Lady Stark wanted a prince for a good son and a queen for a daughter. So, of course she wouldn’t stop now, with her dream finally within reach… Why care, it was with the wrong daughter?

Lady Catelyn argued, the best strategy were, to put on a straight face and show the other courtiers, there was nothing to gossip about - just an inexperienced girl that hadn’t understood court protocol yet. Only, Arya no longer cared, what her lady mother thought best. That had caused the entire mess in the first place. She dreaded the thousands of eyes that would watch her every step now. Whereas Catelyn Tully dreaded the further humiliation, should her wayward daughter miss out the festivities now, “Then we could just as well admit that there’s indeed something amiss, a hidden scandal, people ought to speculate about. Don’t you see that?”
“I don’t care.” Arya huffed, unwilling to give in, “This whole damn court can speculate all they want, but they won’t ever see a glimpse of me again—”
“And what about your sister? Do you want her to face these people alone?” Eddard Stark intervened eventually. Shit.

“When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” her father reminded her. “We need to be there tonight, all four of us. To show these folks, who want us weakened that we’re not.” Lord Stark declared unyielding before he stepped from the room, to tell her sister the same. Leaving Arya not much of a choice, but to sullenly slump down in front of the looking glass, to let her mother fix her hair for another feast. The while she stared through he own reflection into space, searching her mind for a way out. Yet, all she found, were her once treasured memories of him. They were all corrupted now, overshadowed by his betrayal and Sansa’s hurt reproaches.

Nevertheless, once the four of them arrived at the Great Hall an hour later, they were naturally still greeted by immediate murmuring and disapproving side-glances. Forcing Arya inevitably to follow her parents’ example in staring each and every one down that dared to look at them the wrong way. To support her sister, whose glance searched vainly for a friendly pair of orbs to lock eyes with. She couldn’t undo, what that stupid fool had done. But she could shield her sister from these nitwits’ gawking. To show everyone, they were a quite literal pack of wolves, standing together against all odds.

At least, until Margaery walked into the hall by her brother’s arm – smiling delighted as ever, as though nothing at all had happened. And despite getting the same pitiful glances as Sansa and even gloating ones, Margaery greeted all four of them with a masterfully enacted warm smile. Only the fact that her gaze lingered a moment too long on Arya, gave away the viper’s charade. She was out for blood.

And she clearly hoped for Sansa to aid her in that task, given how quickly she lured her away from their pack at that. Causing Arya to dig her nails into her palms once more, to glare at the woman and her blithering vultures. They evidently derided Arya’s every move now, concluding her unfit to wed a prince – and least of all the future king. Well, guess what? You can have him, you two deserve one another, you bloody schemers! Arya wanted to shout across the room.

Only right then Ned entered the Great Hall, together with Trystane and a couple more Dornish knights. Causing curious looks to wander instantly from her to him and back, keen for something to happen between the allegedly doomed lovers. However, while Arya herself couldn’t help stealing glances at the young Dornish knight, he studiously avoided to even look into her direction. Only when the group of southern noblemen sat down at a table across from theirs, Ned eventually locked eyes with her. For a brief instant. He speedily dropped his gaze again, to empty the cup of wine that Trystane had filled him, and turned his attention back to his friends. Robbing the scandalmongers thus of the drama they craved. Monsters!

A friendship shattered into a thousand pieces and all they cared for, was to watch it up close. Hadn’t they had enough excitement today? Arya thought bitter and gulped down her own cup of wine, to refill it right again.

Apparently not, since all voices died down when the royal family arrived. Though, fortunately the king wouldn’t have it and called for another round of cheering to the tourney’s champion, forcing the courtiers to play along. Apart from Arya. She busied herself staring at her clenched fists in her lap, when the king and his family passed their table. In vain, though. She immediately felt eyes on her, someone downright piercing her with their eyes. And when she lastly dared to look up, her glance met Ned’s. They studied one another for a moment, before he once more averted his gaze. Yet, his eyes weren’t the ones that flustered Arya. A swift side-glance to the dais proved, the crown prince watched her as well, and his gaze now she couldn’t hold. Damn.

Throughout the entire banquet, Arya fought a blush that threatened to creep out from under her gown’s neckline. She was determined to sit it out as her mother had advised and tried to focus on her plate. But she only poked listless at her food there, trying to overcome her instinctive urge to look up every time she felt their eyes on her. Without success.

Worse even, the more time passed, the more often she caught them scowling at one another in between watching her. Which naturally didn’t slip people’s attention for long. “Haven’t you humiliated me yet enough?” Sansa hissed mere moments later to her side.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re looking at them, you’re making it worse. So, stop it!” But she couldn’t, Arya’s instincts were on alert, as though she expected an attack any moment.

And particularly when the king called for the dancing to begin. After what had happened at the arena, Arya was intent to not ever let her guard down again with this people. Expect the worst, she told herself and forced herself to keep an eye on him, whilst he and Myrcella led the dance; no matter how awkward it felt. But she also viewed everyone else nearing her now with absolute distrust. Like Tommen, who of a sudden ignored court protocol. Rising before Joffrey to ask Sansa for a dance, the young prince baffled the gossipmongers and the older Stark girl alike. Sansa had undoubtedly feared, the other men at court would shun her now as well. At last, a princeling actually using his brains! Arya thought sullen, seeing how this kind gesture now managed to turn her sister’s affected smile into a small genuine one again.

The crown prince on the other hand, allowed Trystane to take over with Myrcella, whereas he blatantly returned to his seat. Apparently refusing to dance with anyone else afterwards, even after a heated yet hushed debate with the queen. Whilst Joffrey complacently stepped in for him, asking the daughters of the great houses for a dance, he followed Ned’s example. Focussed on his wine, he conversed with Renly and Ser Jaime at the dais and continued stealing glances at her. Unnerving Arya into anticipating another idiot move of him now any moment. Which naturally made it all the harder for her to keep a watchful eye on the other morons in the hall.

After Sansa’s third dance with Tommen and two more with Joffrey, admirers seemed to flock to her like bees round a honeypot. And from then on, some particularly pea-brained nincompoops – who obviously had been sound asleep all day – also approached Arya to ask her for a dance. However, now her lady mother beseeched her to refuse them all, seeing how both Ned and the crown prince glared at each of them. Which in return of course tempted Arya to actually accept the requests. Just out of spite, towards her mother and the two idiots.

Nonetheless, things just had to take a turn for the worse again eventually. And once more without her doing. “Seven hells, has really no man here the balls to ask the fairest lass in my hall for a dance?” King Robert suddenly roared, puzzling his courtiers. “Well, then I will…”
He was about to rise from his seat, but was stopped by his firstborn placing a hand on his arm, “Father, no.”
“What, boy? Just because you’re too chicken-hearted to ask the pretty she-wolf yourself?” his sire snorted, trying to yank his arm free. What?
“She doesn’t like dancing.” the crown prince growled, tightening his grip visibly.
“With you maybe, but she’ll dance with me—” The hells! Arya pushed her chair livid from the table. Fucking Baratheons.
“You leave her be, you bloody sot!” the prince snarled, looking daggers at his father. Time to get out of here.
“Robert, he’s right.” Renly intervened, “The little wolf doesn’t care for dancing.”

It was the last thing, Arya heard of the dispute at the dais. Since her own sire had also risen from his seat. “Let’s get some fresh air, till that old fool retires for the night.” he whispered and urged her from the king’s hall into the gardens.
“What about Sansa and mother?”
“They’ll know where to find us, and you and I need to talk.” her father insisted and evidently tried to remain out of earshot of others, once he led her to a balustrade overviewing Blackwater Bay. “Listen, I didn’t want to ask this in front of your mother, but to ask you I must.” Great, what was it now? Arya rolled her eyes. “You see, until a moment ago I’d assumed, Prince Gendry didn’t ask you for a dance because he feared you’d reject him anew.” her lord father began, “Yet, now I find myself wondering, how came he to know that you don’t like dancing?”
“But I do!” Arya objected reflexively.
Causing Eddard Stark to chuckle, “Yes, your water dance. Courtly dancing though, you never liked, unless you could peeve your mother by dancing with Jon all night.” He sighed and got serious again, “So, will you tell me, how he knows this about you, when others don’t?”
“That’s not true! Ned knows and Renly and Loras, and Trystane and Tommen too. They could’ve told him… or Sansa or Myrcella.” Arya argued at once, “In fact, anyone with a brain could’ve figured that much out by now.”

“Aye.” her father sighed once more, “But what about Needle? How does he know its name?” Seven hells, Arya gulped. “He asked me to return it to you, you know.” Seven bloody hells. Ned Stark watched his daughter’s surprised reaction closely.
“Err…” Better tell some truth now. “Well, he kind of walked into me once after practice.” Arya felt her cheeks flush.
“Once?” her father questioned doubting. Would that bloody idiot ever cease to get her into trouble?
“Yes, once.”
“So, you weren’t secretly sparring with him?”
“Huh? No!”
“Are you sure?” Eddard Stark inquired unconvinced.
“I swear.” she tried to calm her voice, “He just found me once, after practice.”

“Arya, you’d tell me, if there was something going on between you and him, wouldn’t you?” her father questioned wary.
“There isn’t!” she snapped fretted. Whatever had been going on was over now anyway. “And I’m still a maiden, if that’s what you worry about again.” Arya growled, seeing her father seemingly relax.
“I worry about you, child. You used to talk to me… tell me, when something bothered you. But lately… you’re so secretive. And that worries me more than anything else.”
“Well, you don’t tell me what’s bothering you, either.” she retorted stubborn.
“I’m telling you now, am I not?” her father tried to placate her.
“But telling you won’t change anything…” Arya countered gloomy.
“It might.” he suggested at once.

“No, it won’t!” Arya hissed bitter, “Eventually, you’ll make me wed. Him or Ned, or whoever else you seem fit… what I want hasn’t mattered in a long time—”
“That’s not true—”
“Yes, it is!” she insisted, “I told you at least a hundred times, that marrying a high lord and bearing his children, that’s not me. You know, I want to be a knight… a fighter. Because that’s what I’m good at, what I love. Yet, here we are! You and mother looking for just that, some lordling you can marry me off to… only now it’s even a damn prince, who listens to me as much as you do, namely not. So, I’m done talking.” To either of you.
“Child—”
“I’m not a child anymore! I’m a grown woman and I want to be left in peace now.” Arya snapped at her father, yet felt instantly guilty at it. “Please. I know, it’s past nightfall and not proper, but I need to be alone now… just for a while.”
“It’s fine, Ch— Daughter. I trust you.” her father sighed once more, claiming, “And I can’t speak for Prince Gendry, but I’m still listening… And I’m going to think on what you said, I promise.” he kissed her forehead, before he reluctantly turned back to the Great Hall.

However, with the gardens well illuminated as usual on festivities, Arya soon felt eyes on her again. So much for peace… At first, she tried to ignore the gossipmongers and gazed brooding at the sea. Though, eventually she heard the spiteful whispers getting louder, as Margaery’s vultures apparently saw their chance to prey on her.

“Why her, out of all of us? I just don’t get it.”
“Yeah.”
“Sansa, I’d understand.”
“Aye, she’s a born queen.”
“But her?”
“How can she even be related to Sansa and Lady Catelyn?”
“So true.”
“Just look at her!”
“Any Flea Bottom whore seems more well-bred.”
“Indeed.”
“Maybe he’s gone mad?”
“Oh, that’d be a real shame, he’s so handsome…”
“Yeah…”
“But wasn’t his grandmother or so a Targaryen?”
“Right, I forgot.”
“Don’t be silly! She bewitched him.”
“Definitively.”
“With some wildling spells, I bet.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s a savage.”
“Aye.”
“Worse than the beast, she supposedly was raised with—”

At which Arya had enough and whirled around. “If you think me a savage wolf, then what are you? Sheep? Stupid suicidal sheep, it appears. If I were you, I’d run…” she hissed and paused to shout abruptly, “NOW!” She even snarled like Nymeria then, as loud as she could. Causing the whole flock of them to scurry away squealing. Bloody numb nuts.

Amusing not only Arya herself at it, but also most of the courtiers nearby. And none more than Renly. His loud guffaw and applause, “Bravo, little wolf.” made her turn into his direction reflexively. However, seeing the small smile to his right, wiped Arya’s own amusement off of her face at once and made her swiftly spin back around towards the sea. She clenched her fists on the balustrade and hoped imploringly, he would get the hint. Though, of course he did not, but approached her a mere moment later. Unbelievable.
“Can we please talk?” he asked quietly, stepping to the parapet hardly two feet to her right.
“No.”
Still, he couldn’t leave her be, “Alright, I get it, you’re pissed—”
Causing her to whip her head around to glare at him, “Well, aren’t you a real genius?” before she furiously stomped off.
“Great! And for how long does my lady intend to stay mad at me?” he called after her, sounding quite disgruntled himself then.
“How about forever?” Arya shot back over her shoulder and sped up her pace, to prevent him from following her again. She had no intention to hear his stupid excuses…

Arya fled down the closest stairs to a lower levelled garden. Only, seeing Littlefinger and Margaery coming her way there, made her swiftly turn on her heels. Hells, was no one dancing anymore? Thus, back upstairs, Arya took the one way leading away from them and the prince. Right into Ned’s arms. Fuck.

He and some young nobles stood less than fifty feet away. Causing her to halt abruptly and chew her lower lip, to ponder whether she should approach him or not. Yet, when his eyes found hers now, he held her gaze and only looked away for an instant to say something to the others, before he walked towards her. “Care to go for a stroll?” he asked sheepish and Arya could only nod – unsure if she should feel relieved that he no longer avoided her or fear, what he was about to say to her now.

For a while, they walked in an awkward silence, an almost unbearable quiet. Afore they then blundered out together, “I’m sorry.” puzzling one another.
“Arya, there’s no need for you to apologise.” Ned proclaimed and pulled her along through a rose arch into a small grove that was surrounded by walls of shrubs, shielding them from prying eyes.
“Yes, there is!” she disagreed anxious, “Everyone said, you’d crown me and I panicked and rooted for him… But I didn’t know, he’d do that, I swear—”
“I did.” Ned hung his head in shame, “That’s why I wanted your ribbon— I mean, I really wanted to wear your favour. Even though, I knew you think it nonsense and wouldn’t like it… so, normally I wouldn’t’ve asked for it. But I just wanted him to back off, so I just had to ask… and couldn’t drop out… Not against him. I’m so sorry—”
“I know, I’m not mad at you.” Arya assured, clearly surprising him.

“I mean, I was… I wanted to rip your head off, to be honest. But that was afore he— I just didn’t understand it before… Ned, I wish, you would’ve told me…”
“Well, how could I?” he countered, “I know, he’s an absolute prick of late. But Gendry’s my friend, my best friend, Arya. Ever since I came here with Lord Beric. And I knew, he liked you… liked you right from the start. But you didn’t like him then, so he kept his distance and I didn’t think much of it. Until he suddenly showed up everywhere… It just pissed me off, to see how well you two suddenly got along. So, eventually jealousy got the better of me, making me do stupid things… like putting pressure on you—”

“I know. But why didn’t you tell me about you?” Arya questioned reluctant, dreading what she would have to tell him now. While Ned dropped his gaze to the ground, colouring up to his ears.
He took a deep breath and swallowed, “Arya, I… I like you. A lot. More than liking… far more.” he admitted, unable to look at her, “And it’s true, I want you to be my wife… not right away though, in a couple of years perhaps. I know that’s just me, but someway I’d hoped that maybe one day, you… you could like me that way too. And I suppose, until then I didn’t want to lose you… your friendship—”
“Ned, you’ll never lose my friendship.” Arya took his right hand, to make him face her, “Never, I swear.”
“But you don’t— feel what I feel?” he finally met her glance again.
“No.” she stated quietly, “I’m sorry, Ned. I wish, I would. I really do…”
He nodded, clearly disappointed, “Me, too.”

Before he carefully asked, “And what about Gendry?”
“He can jump into a lake, for all I care.” Arya snarled, feeling her rage stir up again.
“I’m pretty sure, your lady mother wouldn’t like losing her new favourite good son contender like that.” Ned teased saddened.
“I don’t know. That stupid trick, he played on Father, pissed her off. Badly.”
“What trick?” Ned blinked puzzled.
“You know, first requesting my hand and once Father was about to refuse, asking him to postpone betrothing me to someone else—”
“Bloody bastard!” Ned burst out, “That wise-arse Lannister spawn planned this all along…” He sounded almost impressed, “Damn, now I feel even more like a nitwit. I speed things up… and he’s doing just the opposite, giving you more time—”

“Six moons is nothing!” Arya snapped, “And it won’t change anything. Not for me…”
“I bet, he would’ve given you even more time, if it weren’t for your mother.”
“Doesn’t matter! It’s just another trick, like asking Father to give me Needle back… As though that’d make me pine after him?”
Ned shook his head in disbelief, “Damn, he’s good—”
“Stop admiring him!” she huffed annoyed, “A trick’s a trick. No matter how well played, and I don’t like being played…”
“No, that you don’t.” Ned chuckled and caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, making her realise that they still held each other. No tingling though, not even a bit.

“Well, isn’t that a lovely couple?” Joffrey mocked, standing suddenly under the rose arch, with Margaery by his arm. Well, bloody fantastic!
“It is, my prince.” the Tyrell viper chirped affected, “Though, I wonder what will your brother think of this?”
“You’re absolutely right, my lady. I believe, I’m obliged to intervene here in his stead.” Joffrey smirked and led Margaery further into the grove.
Causing Ned step into his way at once, “Your Grace, whatever problem your brother should have with me courting the Lady Arya, he can tell me to my face.”
“So keen to be thrown into the dust again, Dayne?” Joffrey mocked dismissively.
Which made Arya step next to Ned and hiss, “I recall you dropping into the dust far sooner, Your Grace. Even before your baby brother.” tempted to reveal, who actually had unhorsed him.

“How dare you, wolf-bit—” Joffrey spat, rushing towards her.
But Ned stepped into his way once more, “Is that your idea of driving a wedge between me and Gendry? Ain’t working, Joff, on the contrary. So, who’s it going to be, me or him that beats the apology out from of you?”
“I see, the she-wolf still has her fangs in both men…” Margaery taunted frigid and pulled Joffrey back, who let her. Probably knowing, he stood no chance against the only slightly younger Dornishman.
“Whereas, you wasted no time to twine your thorny tendrils around the next best thing, hm?” Arya sneered in return.

“A real sly move, Lady Arya.” Margaery retorted scornful, “Playing the uninterested tomboy to stick out amongst the rest of us, and then going after his best friend to make him go green with envy… well played, indeed.”
“I don’t know, what you’re talking about.” Arya snarled and stormed out of the grove.
“You can stop with your little charade now!” the viper called after her.
“Aye, no one’s buying it anyway, except you, Dayne! You nobody stand no chance in this…" Joffrey added gleeful.

“Don’t underestimate her!” Ned warned, when he caught up with Arya.
“I’m not afraid of her.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. You need to watch out, she has the means to ruin you—”
“What’s her goddamn problem, anyway?” Arya fumed, “I refused him, didn’t I? So, she can still have him—”
“Arya, you know, he doesn't want her. She feared so for years and now she sees it confirmed.”
“But that’s not my fault!” Arya snapped, “No need to take it out on me, I’m no fucking scapegoat—”
“No, but he’s the fucking crown prince.” Ned countered, “And not everyone has the guts to tell the future king to fuck off in front of everyone, like you did.”
“You want to tell me, that snake’s just as much a craven as all the rest of them here?” Arya arched her eyebrow in disbelief.
“That’s probably why she hates you so much…”

“So, basically you and I are the only ones that tell this princeling, he’s a twerp?” Arya concluded amused.
“Pretty much.”
“And how in the gods name did you endure being friends with such a fool for so long?”
“You’ve seen the other morons here at court, right?”
“Myrcella’s no moron!”
“Well, I could hardly attend embroidery sessions with her, could I?” Ned teased chuckling.
“At least, then my stitches wouldn’t be the only crooked ones…”
“That’s what you think!” he nudged her shoulder, “I bet, even my needlework is better than yours—”
“You’re lucky, I hate sewing too much. Or else I’d challenge you to prove this claim, bigmouth.” Arya shoved him playfully.
“Sure. Let’s pretend, you didn't chicken out because you know that I’m right.” Ned mocked her for her failures in the female arts, claiming cockily, he could best her in every single one of them.
“Rubbish.”

“Rubbish?” he arched his brows, playing the outraged, “My dear Lady Arya, this wasn’t my first tournament. Yet, somehow it was the first one, where I managed to bruise literally all my toes.” he teased on. “And let me give you a massive broad hint here, that didn’t happen in the arena… or did you really think, I needed rest last night?”
“No. I thought, you chickened out in front of my mother and her broad hints.”
“No, I was just afraid, you northern clod would cripple me for life.” he gently shoved her shoulder.
“Oh, shut up!” Arya shoved him back and challenged grinning, “Or do you want to find out, how me crippling you actually looks like?”
“Wait, did you just ask me for a dance?” Ned snorted laughing.
“Aye, but not for the kind of dance you think, stupid.”

“You two have to be joking?” the crown prince suddenly hissed from behind them, his speech slightly slurring. “Him, you forgive?” he stepped closer.
“He’s no deceiving liar.” Arya spat angry.
“He did the exact same thing.”
“You can hardly compare that—” Ned objected.
“Huh?” the prince stared at him unbelieving, “The only difference is, you didn’t win…”
“No, he only did it to stop you.” Arya snarled.
“Horseshit! He did it, because he wants you… because he realised, you like me better—” the prince snorted dismissive.
“Well, guess what, dimwit? I don’t. I hate you.” she hissed, glaring at him.
“Liar!” he scoffed and scowled back at her, “Just because you don’t like someone, doesn’t mean you don’t love them, right?” he perplexed her.
“What the fuck, Gendry?” Ned burst out, “Do you even realise, how much of a self-regarding prick you sound of late?”
“Her words, not mine.” the prince snapped, still glaring at Arya.
“Aye, meaning me and my sister. Not you, you damn idiot!”
“Doesn’t mean, they don’t apply to you and me as well.” he huffed in response.

“Seven hells, are you fully delusional now?” Ned hissed bewildered.
“I’m not the one, who forced her into giving me her favour…”
“Yeah, me wearing her ribbon really pissed you off, didn’t it?” Ned snarled.
“No, not really.” the prince claimed suddenly somewhat smug.
“Yes, it did!” Arya snapped.
“No, not anymore, once I heard how he and your mother blackmailed you—”
“I did no such thing!” Ned shouted.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that…” the prince scoffed, “Deep down you know, she would’ve never given it to you voluntarily.”
“But naturally with you, she would have?” Ned growled livid, not noticing how Arya’s eyes widened at that. He wouldn’t— Though, of course he did.
The crown prince shifted his furious glare from Ned to her, clicking his tongue, “And who’s the deceiving liar now, my lady? Do you want me to tell him, or will you?”

“Tell me what?” Ned asked baffled and turned alarmed to her, “Arya?”
“Don’t you dare!” she glared panicking at the prince.
“You leave me no choice…” he panted with rage and undid the upper hooks and eyes on his doublet, pulling out the acorn ribbon from an inner pocket, “I suppose, you recognise the fabric?” he addressed their friend surprisingly quiet.
And for a moment, Ned just stared at the makeshift ribbon in disbelief, before he turned to Arya again, “Why?”
“It was a joke.” she pleaded, her face flushed with shame, “Just a way to defy Mother… I didn’t know, you actually wanted my favour then… it didn’t mean anything—”
“It didn’t mean anything?” the prince blurted taken aback, “And what about that?” he nodded at her neck, “Is that also just a joke to you?” Fuck. She had totally forgotten about the necklace, causing now both men to stare at her aghast.

“You said, it were Jon’s…” Ned muttered blankly.
“Seriously?” the prince burst out.
“What was I supposed to tell people?” Arya huffed defensively, feeling angry tears well up.
“People? ” Ned asked in bewilderment, “I’m not people… but most of all, why the hells are you even wearing it?”
“Aye, that’s the question indeed.” the prince glared at her.
And Ned added, “I asked you… just tonight, and you said—”
“He can jump into a lake! I mean it.” Arya snapped desperate.
“You’re fucking jesting?” the crown prince hissed.
“Arya, that’s no answer.” Ned ignored him, “He’s wearing your favour, and you his necklace.” Causing her to swallow, to get rid of the lump in her throat. Without success. “He’s right.” Ned stared at her, absolutely hurt and disillusioned now, “You do love him—”
“No.” she felt tears running down her cheeks, “I hate him, he ruined everything—”
“No, you’re just mad at him…” Ned concluded and clenched his jaw and fists, before he stormed off. No… no. No!

Arya was about to run after him, but the prince grasped her arm, stopping her, “Don’t! You and I are the last people, he wants to see now.” Instead, he tried to haul her along into the opposite direction.
But she wouldn’t have it, “Let go of me!” she demanded fuming.
“Are you so keen to let them also hear the rest of our conversation?” he snarled and nodded at the onlookers, who had flocked together to witness their quarrel.
“I don’t care, I’m done with you…” she hissed and wrenched her arm free, to undo the necklace and throw it at him, “You ruined my life—”
“I’d say, you ruined a great deal yourself there!” he balled the acorn ribbon up and threw it at her in return. But she had enough now and marched wordlessly right through the dumbstruck gawkers. Whilst he furiously spat, “What’re you lot gaping at? Spectacle’s over now…” That damn fucking arsehole.

Chapter Text

Predictably, the onlookers wasted no time to spread the news about her quarrel with Ned and the crown prince. It was just a too good fodder for the scandalmongers. Precisely, what those fuckers had prayed for all night. And while Arya fled back to the Tower of the Hand, to sink down devastated by her bed and pulling her knees to her chest, the rumour mill at court worked with lightning speed.

Within no time all kind of abstruse tales were spun about their dispute, and especially after some of the older gossipmongers claimed to see parallels to the Tourney at Harrenhal over twenty-five years ago. Which brought not only the particularly wicked nutters to the scene, who instantly prophesied doom for everyone, but it also played perfectly into the hands of Joffrey and Margaery. They spun swiftly their own yarn about the incident, claiming they would have caught Arya and Ned just in time to warn the crown prince about their alleged attempt to elope together.

Thus, once her father and mother and Sansa barged into her chamber about half an hour later, they found Arya’s version bewilderingly less convincing. “Have you lost your minds?” she hissed at them, her nerves still raw, “This’s just Margaery and Joffrey messing with your heads, can’t you see that?” She’d refused a wreath of silly flowers, no need for everyone to go batshit mad now…

But apparently it was. Some courtiers would even talk of a curse already, Sansa claimed, lamenting, she would never find a husband now that everyone thought Stark women spelled doom for men. “Rubbish, there’s no curse… just an idiot prince—” Arya objected.
“No, you’re the curse!” Sansa spat, glaring at her, “People had just stopped whispering behind my back, owing to Tommen… But you just had to ruin it again, like the plague you are—”
“ENOUGH!” their father reprimanded, before he addressed his older daughter more calmly, “Your sister undoubtedly contributed to the escalation tonight, and losing her temper in public twice a day, was all but smart…” Giving Arya a warning glance at that, he continued, “We all know, what Prince Gendry did today hurt your feelings. But you now taking it out on Arya, to cope with it, isn’t right, Sansa. You’re sisters, for the gods’ sake… when will you two act accordingly?”
“But why did he do it?” Sansa started snivelling once more, tears running down her cheek, “I spent an entire year trying to please him and I truly thought, he liked me… Why couldn’t he choose me? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.” Arya proclaimed prompt, as Sansa was pulled into an embrace by their mother.
“Am I not pretty enough?” Sansa sobbed desperate in search for an explanation.
“Of course, you are, sweet girl.” Lady Stark whispered soothing.
“You’re perfect—” Arya assured.
“Then why did he choose you?” Sansa questioned, locking eyes with her, “All you ever did, was scoff at him…”
“Because he’s a bull-headed idiot, that’s why.” Why else?
“I don’t think it’s that simple, Ch— Arya.” their father sat down next to her on her bed, “No one gets to choose, who they like or who likes them. Sometimes feelings are reciprocated and sometimes they’re not.”
“But he does like her, he told me so—” Arya disagreed stubborn.
“But not enough! Not the way, he likes you… Don’t you get that?” Sansa countered still snivelling, “And with all those horrible rumours now, who’d want me?”

“Not everyone believes that nonsense.” Eddard Stark tried to placate. Hopefully, or else Sansa would never forgive her.
“Indeed. The men that dare to court you now are the smart ones, the truly valiant ones.” their mother added. “They will stand by you and protect you, even against a mighty foe as House Tyrell. You should see this as a chance, Sansa, you couldn’t winnow the fools and cravens any quicker, that’s for sure. And with a bit of luck, you even find yourself a real gem.” Lady Catelyn concluded, surprising both her daughters.

“As I apparently have.” Ned Stark reached for his wife’s hand, suggesting, “And maybe things aren’t as dire as they look now. It’s been a long day and we’re all tired. We should wait until the morrow, when everything becomes more clear, before we decide how to deal with this all.” He turned to Arya, warning her, “Meaning, no one makes any hasty decisions tonight, such as running away or anything else the like, hmm?” As though she could! That oaf probably just waited for a chance to catch her behind that bloody wall-hanging, Arya huffed to herself. But of course, her sullen exhale didn’t go unnoticed. “Promised?” her father asked, his brows arched.
“I swear…” Arya muttered gloomy.
“Good.” he placed a kiss onto her head and caressed her shoulder, afore he and Sansa and their mother eventually retired to their own chambers.

Yet, lastly alone and left in peace now, Arya had to realise, she had absolutely no idea what to do now – how to handle this, how to get out of this mess. Besides, running them all through with her blades, him and all the schemers and scandalmongers… Pity, that wasn’t an option, she sighed. Unless you’d kill them all, Baratheons, Lannisters and Tyrells altogether. her mind mocked cynically. Yeah, that’d definitively do the trick, if she were a Faceless Man at least. But she wasn’t. Unfortunately. And even if she were, it wouldn’t help her with Ned and Sansa. Just what the hells was she supposed to do now? About them… and that bloody stupid princeling?

Mad at him and yet determined to not ever let him steal another night’s rest, Arya hurried out of her gown, uncaring that some of its seams ripped in the process. The damn thing deserved it. Dressed in only her bodice and undergarments then, she slipped under her blankets and pulled them over her head, hoping to shut him out from her thoughts. In vain, of course. As soon as she closed her eyes, her mind became flooded with accusing countenances and reproaches – alternating in her sister’s voice or Ned’s or his. Causing her soon to feel entirely exposed and vulnerable again.

Until she no longer could bear it and forcefully cast off her covers. Panting and trying to steady her racing heartbeat, Arya sat in her bed, when her eyes suddenly noticed the wooden trunk by her desk. Wait, was that Renly’s chest? She was out of bed at once and opened its lid, to find the rest of her treasured belongings inside – clothes, practice sword, dagger, chainmail, padded jack and even all the misfit pieces of armour, she had acquired over the years. Damn, they really wanted her to accept him, Arya realised disenchanted and fumed once more. She wouldn’t. Ever! She frantically unlaced her bodice and threw it against the wall. Couldn’t.

Instead, Arya slipped into a pair of trousers, she had stolen from Bran, a far too big shirt of Robb and Jon’s old jerkin. Grabbing Needle in one hand and her dagger in the other, she crawled back under blankets. Better. Way better. It still took almost another hour, before eventually exhaustion won the upper hand and allowed her to drift off to sleep, but at least she didn’t feel exposed and vulnerable anymore. And she never would again, Arya promised herself.

However, Catelyn Tully was all but thrilled to hear so, when she came to wake her rebellious daughter the next morning. “You missed breakfast.” she reprimanded over entering the bedchamber.
“So?” Arya growled unmoving from under her bedcovers, which naturally made her lady mother pull them off forcefully and gasp at the sight underneath.
“Where have you been?” she demanded furious.
“In bed, evidently.” Arya scowled up at her, still unmoving.
“You want me to believe, you slept like that for no reason?”
“No, I slept like this, because I’m done with your stupid dresses, they caused the whole mess, even Sansa thinks so.” Arya retorted unapologetic and sat up, “This is me, and it’s time for you and everyone else to accept that now.” She grabbed Needle and her dagger in one hand and her sword belt and sparring boots with the other, to slip out from the room, before her outraged mother could counter anything else.

Only her newly erected defences crumbled slightly at the sight of her lord father in their private dining hall, his furrowed brows betrayed that he had news for her. Already? Arya thought aghast. “The crown prince was here earlier,” Eddard Stark began reluctantly, while she buckled her sword belt. Of course, that bull-headed twerp was, Arya rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance. “Together with Lord Dayne.” her father continued, baffling her. What?
“To apologise for last night.” Lady Stark clarified, entering the room behind her. “And to assure us that none of the rumours were true, except that the three of you had a disagreement, fuelled by too much wine.”
“As I said…” Arya growled fretted, seeing they only now fully believed her. She sat down at the table across from Sansa, who busied herself with some new needlework – obviously pretending, she wouldn’t pay any attention to their exchange.

“Yes,” their lord father sighed, “but that wasn’t all.” Allowing Arya to hope for a moment that he would have come to his senses. But again Eddard Stark’s afflicted mien gave away, that wasn’t the case, even before he continued, “Lord Dayne—”
“What?” Arya interrupted alarmed.
“He told me, that under the current circumstances, he sees himself unable to court you any longer.” her father revealed whilst observing her reaction closely. And although Arya should have felt relieved, and a part of her actually was, she felt tears well up now.
“He doesn’t want to see me again, that’s what he meant, right?”
“Oh, please…” Sansa scoffed without even facing her, “Wasn’t that what you wanted all along—”
“No, it wasn’t!” Arya snapped at her, “He was my friend, I just didn’t want to marry him, as you bloody well know—”
“Not again, girls.” their father reprimanded right away.
“Just because the crown prince and Lord Dayne managed to take the wind out of the gossipmongers’ sails, doesn’t mean they won’t come up with anew slanders.” Lady Catelyn scolded angrily, “We can’t fight them and amongst ourselves… it weakens us, don’t you two get that?”
“Of course, we do!” Sansa snapped bitter, “But you can hardly expect of me, to accept within less than a day that the man I wanted to wed, out of all women chose my sister—”
“And you can hardly expect of me, to actually marry that fool.” Arya snarled with the same bitterness in her voice.

“About that…” their father sighed once more, clearly not happy to have to tell her, “Prince Gendry invited you to go riding with him in the afternoon—”
“Not going to happen, not in a thousand years.” Arya hissed infuriated and folded her arms demonstratively over her chest.
“And I’m to give you this.” Ned Stark placed a scroll of parchment in front of her on the table.
“I don’t want it, send it back.” she rose livid from her seat.
“At least, take a look at it first—” her mother suggested irked.
“No, I don’t want any stupid messages of him.” Not anymore.
“It’s not a message.” her father placated, “I actually think, you’d like it.”
“Doubt it.” Arya snatched some fruit and bread from the table and made for the door.
“So, this is your plan?” Catelyn Tully burst out outraged, “To ignore and avoid him, until he withdraws his proposal?”
“Even a stupid thickhead like him should understand that message.”

Only he turned out even more slow-witted than Arya had deemed possible. Each morning, he sent new invitations. First, to go sailing with him. Then hunting. And riding again. Exploring the city. Or to practise archery together. Even to spar with him. And each invitation came with another parchment, which she time and again had her father return to him unread. Yet still, that stupid bull-headed oaf didn’t get it. Forcing Arya to thenceforth confine herself to the Tower of the Hand for most of the time, To not give him a chance to head her off somewhere…

Whereas, her sister got now all kind of invitations and even quite unexpected ones. Already on the second day after the tourney, Myrcella and Tommen invited her to join them for some lemoncakes in the gardens. And although, the princess’s message then read that Arya were welcome to join them as well, it was clear as daylight, the invitation was mainly addressed at her sister – to show Sansa, her reputation wasn’t in question and that she had other socialising options than Margaery Tyrell. Meaning, she should miss out…

Not that Arya had felt eager to ever set foot into the palace gardens again, where all those nitwits could gape at her. But it hurt somewhat, how quickly the royal siblings took to her sister now. Given that they invited Sansa right again the next day, to go riding with them and Trystane and Ned, excluding Arya thus once more.

Although, it was a relief to see Sansa return smiling afterwards and hearing that Ned wouldn’t hold a grudge against her – but merely felt he needed to keep his distance for a while – it couldn’t fight back the twinge of jealousy. Wherefore Arya felt even more relieved once her sister received invitations from plenty of suitors over the following days, and that she actually accepted some of them. Like those of Ser Lucas, a handsome riverlands-knight in his twenties, who remained the only one, whose second invitation Sansa accepted instantly – despite him being just a second son of House Blackwood.

Which then unfortunately resulted in him joining Sansa on her next ride with Myrcella and Tommen and the two Dornishmen the day after. Causing Arya to realise that ultimately she had something in common with the Rose of Highgarden – they both watched it jealously happen from afar. Though, naturally the viper wouldn’t go down without a fight just yet and invited Sansa henceforth to every of her strolls and rides with Prince Joffrey, to present her each time another eligible bachelor willing to court her. But no matter Margaery’s efforts, Sansa never returned smiling from any of those. Arya even caught her sister rolling her eyes, when lastly even a raven of the heir of Highgarden himself arrived for her, proving the death knell of her friendship with Margaery was near… The only good thing that came of all this mess.

Nevertheless, it was only a cold comfort for Arya, considering that it looked as though she had lost all her southern friends within one single day now. And whereas Ned’s motivation appeared abundantly clear and understandable, Myrcella and Tommen’s motives turned out trickier to guess. At first, Arya had assumed, they were outright mad at her for spurning and humiliating their brother. Of course, they’re pissed, stupid! What did you expect, that they’d side with you? she had scolded herself; knowing that had the princess exposed one of her brothers to such public ridicule, she would be out to pummel her in return. But then Arya realised, the Baratheon siblings were both still friends with Ned. Shouldn’t they be mad at him, too, at least a bit? she wondered at that and conceived soon another suspicion. Was this mayhap also his doing? Another trick, he played on her?

The more Arya pored over it, the more sense it seemed to make, That son of a bitch was preying on her! Isolating her like a lame sheep from its flock, like the bloody lion, he obviously thought himself. A notion that only fuelled her anger, She was no damn imbecile sheep, he could prey on, she was a wolf! Isolating and cornering her, only made her all the more vicious…

Thus, unwilling to ever see him or any of the babblative courtiers again, Arya spent the days after the tournament mostly practising her sword-fighting in her chamber and on the staircases of the Tower of the Hand – much to the chagrin of Lady Stark. Until after the fifth day, Arya could no longer bear her self-imposed durance and hence instructed Harwin, to have their stable boys send word, every time the crown prince returned from his rides. Allowing her to go riding with the guardsman thenceforth, as soon as they were certain, he wouldn’t be out there anywhere. But nonetheless, Arya spent still far too much time at the Hand’s Tower now, within earshot and sight of her lady mother. And like any caged animal, she grew restless and aggressive at it.

Even more so, when she realised, He just wasn’t giving up. Rather the contrary, in addition to his invitations and silly parchments, he soon even sent gifts. First, a small sealed jewellery box, His damn necklace, no doubt. Which made Arya snatch it furiously alongside the parchment scroll and thrust both into Alyn’s hands, who stood guard outside the tower then, tasking him to take it straight back to that stupid princeling. Only he kept sending more. A sword belt, perfectly fitted for her size, the day after. As well as the trousers, shirt and doublet the following day. And after that, it was a Dothraki bow with a quiver of arrows and eventually even a Valyrian steel dagger.

“You don’t deserve him.” Sansa hissed at her that day, while they both returned to their chambers after breakfast.
“I couldn’t care any less.” Arya retorted unmoved and drew Needle, to start her water dancing right there on the stairs.
“Then you’re daft.” her sister snarled unbelieving, “He finds the perfect gifts for you, which seems a nigh impossible task, if you ask me, but he does… And still all you do, is insult him—”
“Well, obviously I’m not venal—”
“He’s not bribing you!” Sansa spat, “He’s wooing you, you idiot, since for whatever misguided reason he actually seems to like you—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You just don’t want to get it, do you? You’re the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms and it’ll be your loss, once he withdraws his proposal…” her sister shot back and rushed into her chamber, to ready herself for a stroll in the gardens with yet another suitor.
“Well, guess what? I’m champing at the bit for him to do so!” Arya called after her, causing Sansa to slam her door shut behind herself. “At least, then I can finally go home…”

However, seeing the next day’s gifts – ink, quill and parchment – made her throw it all from the window. Did he really think her that dimwitted? That she’d fall for the same trick twice? Arya stormed furious back to her chamber without a bite to eat and locked herself up inside. To find another two dozen ways to kill him.

But she hadn’t even finished her first half dozen, when she suddenly heard her name, “Arya Stark!” called from down in the yard. “I deemed you for many things, but never a coward. Looks like I was wrong, though…” he shouted, catching her fully off-guard. What the fuck? “I know, you can hear me and you hear correct: You’re a coward, Arya Stark!” At that, she had enough. Unlocking her door, Arya flew down the stairs and out into the yard, to point Needle at his throat before Cayn and Tom could stop her.
“Call me a coward again, and I’ll gut you!” she threatened livid.
At which he clicked his tongue and scoffed, “So, it is as I thought, you’d rather kill me than admit your true feelings? Well, if that’s not craven, then I don’t know what is…” Glaring at her unimpressed, he stepped even closer towards her blade. Bloody hells.
“Draw your damn sword, princeling.” Arya snarled and scowled right back at him, though carefully avoided to cut his skin.

“Arya Stark!” resounded once more in the small yard, only this time it was Catelyn Tully’s shriek, “Have you lost your mind now?” Her lady mother stumbled from the gate of the Tower of the Hand alongside Jory and a handful more household guards. “Fetch the Hand, at once!” she instructed Cayn, seeing half a dozen Baratheon guards swarming into the yard now.
“Step away from His Grace, lass!” one of them commanded, whilst they unsheathed their swords.
But he demanded, “Stay out of this!” and assured the men, “She isn’t going to hurt me.” without even averting his angry gaze from her.
“I wouldn’t count on that.” Arya spat, whilst Jory and his men then also reached for their swords’ hilts.
“Your Grace, please, step away from her—” the Baratheon men pleaded.
But he only snapped, “I said, stay out of this!” afore challenging her, “I accept, Lady Arya. Though, if I win, you’ll admit, you care for me as much as I do for you—”

“Over my dead body, or yours in that case—” Arya snarled outraged, right when her father snatched Needle from her grip.
“No one’s admitting anything over no one’s dead body.” Eddard Stark grasped her arm firmer than he ever had before and pulled her away from the heir to the throne. “Your Grace, I understand that you’re displeased, but this isn’t the way.” he told him briefly and dragged his still fuming daughter ungently back to the Tower of the Hand, “Do you want to be the death of me, girl?”
“What in the gods’ names were you thinking?” Lady Catelyn rushed towards them, “These guards could’ve killed you—”
“Nonsense, they’re too slow—”
“There’s nothing to boast about here, child.” her father hissed furious.
“Ain’t boasting when true.” Arya huffed cross nonetheless.

They ushered her into her father’s solar afterwards, where Catelyn Tully quickly let her husband in on the incident, causing him to shake his head in disbelief. “This rage of yours…” he turned to Arya, “You always had a quick temper, but this… this unreasonable, reckless fury, it has to stop—”
“But he started it,” Arya objected right away, “he called me a coward—”
“Aye, to lure you out,” her lord father countered, “and you fell right into his snare.” What? Seven hells… “Arya, what is this between you and him? Even I can see, there’s more to it than you want everyone to believe. What is it that you’re not telling me?” he tried to get through to her once more. At which Arya bit her lower lip, to not fully turn beet-red under her father’s gaze. “You’re slighting him over and over, and yet he endures it all… no sane man would submit to such affronts—”
“Well, that’s because—”
“Arya, he’s not stupid.” her father disagreed sighing, “Gendry’s one of the brightest people, I know… so, why wouldn’t he withdraw his proposal despite this all?”
“Ned, this’s pointless.” her lady mother hissed, when Arya still remained silent. “You don’t want to be treated like a child, then I suggest you start acting like the grown woman, you claim to be.”

And of course Eddard Stark sided with his wife again. As always. Wherefore Arya then found herself officially confined to the Tower of the Hand – until she would tell them, what were really going on with her and the crown prince. Which she couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand… they’d make her marry him, if they knew…

Hence unable to give them what they wanted, Arya returned to her chamber to continue her practice. But she only managed to kill him five more times, afore her sister barged into the room. “Just what in all seven hells is wrong with you? Are you so keen to lose your head now?” Sansa hissed. She had been riding with Myrcella and the others again. And apparently the first thing they had heard upon their return to the royal stables had been ambiguous rumours. That either her insane little sister would have attacked the crown prince, just for passing by the Tower of the Hand. Or that he would have tried to win her hand in duelling her, nearly dying in that endeavour though. “If you’re so determined to ruin yourself, fine.” Sansa snarled, “But why do you have to ruin him too? People start contesting him, his suitability to rule, because of you—”
“Yeah, Margaery and Joffrey.” Arya scoffed unimpressed, “After all, that’s her new chance to become queen—”
“Right, why should you care?” Sansa spat, “You won’t have a head anymore then, to see what their reign will look like…” Her sister stormed livid from her chamber, slamming now both Arya’s door and her own shut behind herself.

Yet, Sansa wasn’t her only visitor that day. About an hour later, Lady Stark knocked on her door to inform her, the princess were here to see her. Great. Arya sighed, before she opened her chamber door to invite her friend in; who, unlike her lady mother, easily disregarded her bare feet and calves or her unmade bed. “I wanted to apologise to you, for neglecting our friendship these past three sennights.” Myrcella spoke, once Arya closed the door behind them. “I hope you know, I meant no disrespect by that, dear friend. It’s just, Tom and I wanted to assure Ned that our love for him hasn’t changed… and we thought it a good opportunity to show your sister, we hold great respect for her as well.” Allowing your damn big brother to annoy the hells out me in the meantime, Arya thought fretted, but refrained from lashing out at the princess too.

In hope, to at least mend their friendship now, Arya placated, “I know, Your Grace.” Before she even more sheepishly added, “But that’s not the sole reason, you’re here…”
“Straight forward as usual.” Myrcella chuckled quietly. “And of course, you’re right.” Unfortunately. Arya chewed sullenly on her lower lip. “I also came to you to vouch for my brother.” the princess went on. “What he did this afternoon was undeniably idiotic. And what can I say, it’s the Baratheon temper— Which naturally can’t excuse it. Nevertheless I think, Gendry has reason to be disgruntled to some extent now. He knows, he overwhelmed you at the arena. But how you treat him since, rejecting each of his attempts to regain your trust… That’s not fair, Arya, he deserves better.”

Although, Myrcella was a full year younger, Arya couldn’t help feeling like a misbehaving child next to the composed and reasonable princess now. “He shouldn’t’ve lied to me.” she growled embarrassed.
“I think, we can agree that he should’ve handled some things a bit differently. But the very same goes for Ned…” the princess countered calm, “Arya, my brother’s a good man and he loves you… adores you, like never anyone else before—”
“He told you that?” Arya questioned awkwardly, not knowing what else to say to that.
“Doesn’t have to, I know my brothers…” Myrcella retorted amused, yet got serious again immediately. “I’m not telling you to accept him, that should solely be your choice alone. Though, what I’m asking of you, is that you talk to him.” the younger woman argued, stepping to Arya’s desk. To pull several parchments rolled up around another from her long sleeves there, “And that you take a look at these.” Myrcella unrolled the scrolls on the desktop, pleading one last time, “Hear him out, Arya. Just once, that’s all I beg of you.” before she bid Arya good day again, to give her time to mull over her suggestion.

Leaving Arya to stare at her closed chamber door for a moment, afore she allowed her glance to wander to the parchments then. After a deep breath, she stepped reluctantly to her desk. Alright, then let’s get this over— Only, her eyes went wide at once. An armour design. Stark armour… for her! Feeling her ears heat up and redden, Arya stared stunned at the detailed Stark sigil breastplate, the while she fully unrolled the topmost piece of parchment. To find a small note at its bottom edge, “I am sorry for last night.”

It took Arya a moment to overcome her state of astonishment, afore curiosity then swiftly made her lift the parchment, to see what was underneath. Another design. Sporting only a wolf’s head on the breastplate now, identical to the silver pendant. Whilst its note at the bottom stated, “No matter which design, I need my lady’s measurements.” Whereas the third design parchment read, “When will my lady come by at the shop?” and the fourth, “Do I need to bribe your seamstress? I will.” Unbelievable.

Arya shook her head over… his bull-headed-ness! Feeling a broad smile growing on her face now, made her thank all the gods there were that she hadn’t seen these drawings earlier. Or else she would’ve hurt him in the yard… just for his goddamn ability to make her smile. Even now, when she didn’t want him to. When she was absolutely mad at him. That stupid bull-headed idiot…

The rest of his parchments were drawings of details like helmets, gorgets, shoulder plates, arm plates and gauntlets. Each with a small teasing note at the end, like, “I am still waiting.” or, “Does my lady not recall the way? I can show you.” and lastly, “I do not want to repeat myself. You know what do to with the ink, quill and parchment. Use it.” For the gods’ sake, why couldn’t he just give up? Like any normal person would? Arya huffed and rolled her eyes, widely grinning though. If anyone here truly was a curse, it was well bloody him.

Chapter Text

After seeing his gorgeous armour designs and annoying little notes, Arya spent unsurprisingly another night tossing and turning and brooding over him. But the worst was that her anger faded away. At least, most of it. She still felt cornered by him and hated it. Him on the other hand, She wasn’t sure, if she still hated him… She couldn’t tell.

And it got worse, once she entered their family’s dining hall come morning, to see there wasn’t another scroll waiting for her there – owing to her father, who apparently had asked him, to refrain from sending her further gifts and invitations for a while. Yet, no one seemed more baffled than Arya herself, when instead of the expected triumph a slight disappointment flashed over her face. Which naturally made both her father and her mother arch their brows at her. “Don’t tell me, now you changed your mind?” Sansa scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Of course not.” Arya growled, “I’m just surprised, he actually does what he’s told.” But evidently, none of them bought it. So, she returned quickly to her chamber. To finally finish her two dozens. And to add another…

However, of a sudden practising didn’t help settling her ambiguous thoughts anymore. Hence, without even having an explanation for herself, Arya pulled Theon’s old hooded cloak from her trunk of treasures and relocated her sword-fighting to the staircases. Where she deflected the blows of her imaginary opponents with the heavy fabric, until lastly her father left his solar that morning and Heward his post right outside then. Clearing the way for Arya to slip promptly behind the wall-hanging, to sneak down the ladders to the dragon skull vault and from there to the iron gate barring the way to the tunnels.

With all the gossipmongers at the palace on alert and herself confined to the Hand’s Tower, Flea Bottom simply was a safer place for her to roam about, Arya told herself. Ignoring the little voice in her head that called her a Liar! then.

At first, she was somewhat unsure, whether she would remember the right way. But Arya quickly came to realise, her memory of that night with him was still so vivid, she could almost see him walking in front of her. She recalled his every word. Where she had made him laugh. Where he had called her ‘a nosy one’ and how the whole embarrassing conversation about whores had started. Getting her to realise, He never answered the question, and that she still wanted to know why. Stupid! she scolded herself, What is it to you, whether he likes whores or not?

Nevertheless, she spent the rest of the way in the tunnels pondering about it. Theon went constantly to see Ros… Even Robb and Jon had visited the brothel at least once. And why not? No one could hold it against them. They weren’t wed or betrothed or anything.But neither was he! So, why wouldn’t he? Or had it been just another lie? Probably. Only Ned didn’t like whores, either. True, but Ned was Ned. Almost as quick to blushing as Sansa. Him on the other hand, He didn’t blush easily. He hadn’t even blinked when she had asked him. So, it probably had been a lie… Arya concluded over stepping out from the cave, her hood pulled deep into her face now, with her hands on the hilts of Needle and her dagger.

And as before in the tunnels, her recollection of him led her the way through the downtrodden alleys. Only now even the streets with the pigsties and stables were crowded with people. So many children. Whole bands of orphans, Arya guessed, seeing their filthy, ragged clothes and hungry eyes that followed her. They undoubtedly evaluated, whether her short hooded figure carried any valuables, they could dare to steal. And she did, at least a few coins. After fleeing breakfast so hastily, Arya had thought of pursing some copper for the tavern this time.

However, once she stood outside of it, she hesitated. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. What if they recognised and resented her now? For refusing his wreath? Or for driving a wedge between their friends? Even though, the two idiots did that themselves… But perhaps Hot Pie and Lommy didn’t know that. Damn! Arya decided begrudgingly to rather buy her pie on the Street of Flour, which he had told her was just a little further up the hill.

So, after purchasing some pie there – which didn’t even come close to Hot Pie’s – she turned southwest, pretending she wouldn’t know where her path took her. Don’t! her mind beseeched her, He’ll get it all wrong. Only her feet wouldn’t listen. From the Street of Flour, they led her downhill to the Street of the Sisters and past the Guildhall of the Alchemists, right up the Street of Steel. What do you want there? her mind questioned, and she didn’t know.

Somehow Arya had hoped, she would know when she got there. Yet, once she did, she still had no clue. Damn. She stood outside the shop and chewed her lower lip, while her knuckles turned white from tightly gripping Needle’s hilt. What’re you waiting for? For him to discover you? Arya cursed herself, as she watched customers and deliveries come and go. The while she seemed unable to make up her mind, to either leave or enter. Bloody hells.

Though, of course her presence didn’t go unnoticed forever. Eventually, an apprentice doing a errand got suspicious, to find her still there on his return. Unmoving. Staring at the shop’s entrance. In her ill-fitting clothes. With Needle’s scabbard showing through the cloth of her dirty cloak. “You, urchin, get lost! You’re shooing away our customers.” the tanned youngling barked at her, “There’s nothing here to steal for you.” He roused Arya from her thoughts and caused her to turn on her heel at once. It was for the best. Yet, mere steps later she stopped again, turning back around. What’re you doing? Leave! her mind protested. In vain.
“Can I see him?” Arya blurted, puzzling herself even more than the lad.
“Who?” he questioned confused.
“Gendry.” Great, you’re really doing it!
“There’s no one here by that name.” the youngling lied. Despite looking a couple years younger, he was already taller than Arya and approached her now unafraid. “And now fuck off! Afore I call the City Watch—” he threatened.

So, Arya removed her hood then, perplexing the lad – he clearly had thought her a boy, yet didn’t recognise her. Unlike his master, who came out now, to see with whom his apprentice argued. “My lady…” Master Mott burst out, seemingly flabbergasted at her attire. But he quickly regained his wits and invited her in, apologising for the lad’s rude behaviour.

Leaving Arya no other choice but to follow them inside. He’d know, she was here now anyway, she argued with herself and assured the armourer, the youngling wouldn’t have done anything wrong. Before she then repeated her question, inwardly hoping they would tell her ‘no’ or that he wasn’t here though. But of course, he was. Hence, Arya crossed the back yard to the stone barn once more. Yet, alone this time. This was already humiliating enough. She didn’t need the maid or the apprentice to watch it up close.

Nevertheless, she felt their eyes on her; Master Mott’s, the lad’s and Elinor’s. But theirs weren’t the ones she dreaded. Dreaded so much, her feet refused to take any further step, once she reached the entrance of the stone barn. Yet, still her eyes found him immediately, nailing themselves to his bare back. And now what, you damn genius? Arya scoffed at herself. Clenching her fists over her own stupidity, she worked her lower lip once more, feeling her anger boil up. Not at him though, but rather at herself this time. Fuck. Huffing and kicking at some dirt, she rolled her eyes in frustration and gazed at the well next to the barn – to avoid the benumbing sight of his muscles moving under his skin. In hope for a flash of wit, Arya closed her eyes and took a deep breath. But her brain refused to provide one. This was a bad idea. She should leave.

Only it was too late. When she glanced back into the forge, her eyes met his. Shit! Her instincts took over, telling her to run! and her feet obeyed. “Arya, no, wait!” he called after her, but she couldn’t and so he roared, “Mervyn, stop her!” And the apprentice reacted prompt. Slamming the shop’s backdoor almost into her face, he trapped her in the yard. With him. For fuck’s sake! Arya hit her fist outraged against the door boards. Though, before she could curse the lad on the other side, he was there. Grabbing her arm, he spun her around. “Stay.” he pleaded, trapping her between the door and himself. She couldn’t…

She couldn’t even hold his gaze, although she had not much of a choice. His bare chest under his apron was even worse to look at, causing her face to flush bright red now. But the worst was his dizzying scent – smoke, iron and sweat – it made her jaw drop somewhat and her lips feel dry. Fuck. Arya wet her lips and swallowed visibly, trying to get her flustered mind under control. “What’re you doing here?” he questioned quietly, studying her.
“Um…” she searched her blank mind for an answer. “Err… well, um, you said I should come after the tournament.” was all she could come up with. It made no sense. Not even to herself, only a day ago she had still threatened to kill him.
Nonetheless, he chuckled, “I did.” His body relaxed now evidently, “So, you chose a design?”

“That’s not why I’m here!” Arya objected sheepish, feeling her cheeks and ears turn into a darker shade of red.
“I don’t mind, if you are.” he assured, “You came, that’s what matters.” And here we go, you bloody fool…
“I shouldn’t. I should leave.” she murmured apologetic, trying to wriggle herself free.
“No, Arya. Please, stay.” he beseeched her, arguing, “I promised you armour and I’d like to keep that promise.”
“No, it’s a bad idea.” she objected reluctant, “I couldn’t… you shouldn’t—”
“Maybe. Probably.” he sighed, yet insisted, “But I’m stupid and bull-headed, remember?” Causing her to stare at him unbelieving.

“But it won’t—” she tried to object anew.
“Don’t! Not here.” he cut her off and blinked nervously, “Can’t we just… you know, pretend the damn tourney never happened? At least, while we’re here? You could sit with me again… in quiet or we talk, just normal stuff though. But stay! Just for a little while, please…” That dumbfounded her even more, so she could only nod. Still, that was enough to make him exhale in relief, “Then let me show you something.” He let his hand slide down her arm to take her hand in his, and led her into the stone barn; ignoring the curious looks they got from the others.

“You started already?” Arya realised amazed at his workplace, seeing the small shoulder plates and arm plates laying there.
“Well, I warned you about the seamstress…” he teased clearly abashed. “But you should still let Elinor take your measurements, at least if you want a proper fitting armour in the end. Since dressmaker measurements aren’t precisely what we need here…” he explained, educing a small smile from her. And Sansa thought her the incorrigible one. “You like it?” he studied her, and Arya could still only nod. “Good. Then, when shall we do your measurements? Now or rather some other day.” he inquired, compressing his lips.
“I guess now’s as good as any time?” Arya stated more questioning than matter-of-factly. But it was reassurance enough for him to lead her straight back to the shop.

And Master Mott offered them generously his private dining room in the storey above. Where Elinor then quickly went to work, asking Arya to remove her ill-fitting men’s clothes, so they wouldn’t falsify her measurements. It wasn’t a big deal for Arya to stand there in front of Mott’s maid in just her undergarments, not much of a difference to a seamstress’s measuring. Right until of a sudden, Elinor got too talkative for her liking. “I’m glad you came, m’lady. He’s been miserable since the tournament. I’ve never seen him like that… all sullen and moody.” she baffled Arya. Was there no one left without an opinion about her and him now? And the lass just babbled on, mistaking her silence for approval. She told Arya, she would have seen her on the terrace at the arena, and how beautiful she would have thought her then. Only to assure immediately, Arya would always be beautiful. Even in men’s clothing, but in that white gown from the last tourney day in particular. And therefore it would have come as no surprise to her that Gendry had chosen her, rather than some other pretty lady there, the young woman claimed.
“I ripped its seams that very night.” Arya burst out, not knowing how else to get Elinor to stop, without getting nasty.

“I could fix it for you.” the girl offered promptly. “I’m a good seamstress, m’lady, I make the pants and padded jacks to the armours. They’re all quite fancy and expensive.” she assured, discomfiting Arya once again. Until she got an idea.
“How about you fix it for yourself?” she suggested.
“Beg your pardon, m’lady?” the maid retorted startled.
“The dress. It’s yours, if you want.”
“M’lady’s jesting?” the girl blurted confused.
“No, I hate it. I already thought of burning it.” Arya explained. “Actually, you should have them all, all those damn tourney gowns… Well, besides the green one, for that I ruined beyond repair. But it was ridiculous anyway.” She perplexed the servant girl for good.
“M’lady, I could never—” Elinor stammered.
“Sure, you can!” Arya insisted, determined now. “Wear them, sell them, do with them whatever you like… I just want them gone.”
“Why, m’lady?”
“I’m done with dresses, and with these ones especially.” Arya declared determined, slipping back into her clothes.

“What did you do to poor Elinor?” Gendry entered the room frowning, after the maid handed him the measurements wordlessly in rushing past him.
“Nothing,” Arya growled easygoing. “I’m just giving her some of my dresses.”
Causing him to let out a guffaw, “You’re insane—”
“Why?” Arya snapped, “I hate them, she loves them. So, instead of laughing at me, you could help me get them here the morrow.”
“I would!” he placated immediately. But? “But, um…” he sighed and explained, “I’m leaving for Storm’s End in the morning. For Edric’s nameday, you know…” Oh. “I wanted you to come with me— I mean, I wanted to ask you to come along…” he burst out sheepish, unable to look at her. Oh. “Thought you’d like to get out of here for a while, seeing Edric and Brienne again…” he continued quietly, “Renly and Loras are coming, too. Only Ned declined, for the obvious reasons.” He cornered them both in awkward silence, and made it even worse once he eventually stammered, “I mean, you could still come, if you like. I could talk to your—” Only a quick glance at her made him abandon that thought mid-sentence.

Before the tourney, Arya would have loved the idea and would have beseeched her father to let her go. Even if that would have meant, having Sansa and their lady mother breathe down her neck all day long. Yet, now she was simply speechless. “But I’ll have some of my men pick up your dresses in the morrow.” Gendry offered, trying to end the increasing awkwardness. Yet, again she only nodded and bit her lower lip.

“I guess, you can roam the keep in peace for the next fortnight then, hm?” he teased quietly, to get her to talk again.
“Doubt it!” Arya scoffed, “The gossipmongers are still here and I’m confined to the Hand’s Tower anyway.”
“Doesn’t seem to stop you.” he chuckled.
“Of course not.” she huffed, regaining her wits.
“Good. Since I’d hoped you’d keep an eye on Balerion for me.” he claimed, “Tommen’s looking after him and there’s this new scullion that greases his paws with all kinds of good stuff. But I’m fairly certain, the old grump misses fooling around with you.”
“I will.” she assured quickly, “I wanted to find him anyway, after… coming here.”
“Check the kitchens, that bloody scullion’s literally fattening him like a pig.” Gendry growled playfully and stepped closer, “Come on, let’s get back down, before my forge cools down for good.” He took her hand again.

But Arya was fine with that. What had happened at the arena and since, evidently hadn’t changed that she liked holding his hand. She had missed it, even. And owing to the new scullion, they even had a neutral talking point now. To plot together how they could get back at the lad, who tried to steal their favourite tom’s affection. But also, now that she no longer wore stupid dresses, Arya could do what she had done with Mikken at the Winterfell smithy. At first, she only handed Gendry tongs and tools and put them back in their place, amazing him by not jumbling his order up even once. And when he eventually jokingly told her to blow the bellows, she took her sword-belt off without hesitation and went to work. Getting him to admit impressed, “You weren’t lying. You do know your ways around at a forge.”
“Of course.” Arya snorted cocky, “You’re not the only one with a smithy for a hideout.” He was just never dragged away from his.

“I could talk to Mott if you like, so you could come here while I’m gone.” Gendry offered, surprising her once more.
“But who’d keep that cat-stealing scullion at bay, then? Don’t you think, I should use my horrifying reputation to shoo him away while it lasts?” Arya teased quickly, so she couldn’t think about, if she liked him going away or not.
“By threatening to gut him like the crown prince, huh?” Gendry laughed.
“Aye, and then roast him. To fatten Balerion with his own meat…” she japed, grinning mischievously.
“I knew, you were just the right woman for the task.” Gendry snorted with laughter.

Until of a sudden, he stopped. Studying Arya for a moment, he put the arm plate he just worked on aside. Scaring her a little. What was he up to now? “Do you know how a bodkin-point is made?” he asked roguish an instant later.
“Yeah?” it was more of a question than an answer, since Arya wasn’t sure where this was going.
“Ever made one?” Gendry questioned, his eyes glinting with mischief now.
“No…” she growled. Was he suggesting—
“Want to make one?” he challenged. Was he serious? He didn’t even wait for her answer. “Come on, give it a try!” he encouraged, “I show you once, then you’ll go—”
“Why?” Arya inquired, still wary.
“You watched me work long enough, high time to turn the tables.” he mocked and grabbed a steel bar, shoving it into the embers. As soon as its end glowed bright yellow, he went to work on it. Flattening the end, like a fish tale. Putting the bar back into the embers and pulling it out again. Rolling the end to form the socket. Back into the embers. Putting the socket off and shoving the rest of the bar back into the embers. Whilst he shaped the point on the other end of the socket. After cooling it then in a bucket of water, Gendry handed it to her grinning, “Your turn!”

It had all gone so quick, Arya hadn’t even had time to make up her mind. And he didn’t leave her any. Removing his apron, he put the leather fabric around her and positioned her in front of himself. Handing her one of the lighter hammers then, he challenged, “Go ahead!” But Arya couldn’t, not with him there and watching.
Feeling a bright-red blush creeping up her neck, she scowled up at him, “Turn around!”
“I can’t do that! Mott would kill me.” Gendry laughed.
“Well, then I’m not doing it.” Arya huffed, about to put the hammer down.
But his hands enclosed around hers, “Come on, give it a try. I know you can do it. Just think of your mother’s face, if she could see you now.”
“Fine.” Arya huffed annoyed, “But you need to step away, I need space…”

Although, Gendry did as she asked, stepping a few feet to the side, she still hesitated. “Mother ain’t working. I’m going with my septa.” she growled, afore she pulled the steel bar from the embers, to flatten its end.
“Why your septa?” he asked, entirely focussed on her hands.
“Because that old spinster always picked at me for my crooked stitches, saying I had the hands of a blacksmith.”
“Those little things?” Gendry guffawed, causing her to glare at him.
“Eyes on your work, little wolf!” he scolded chuckling, fuelling her anger. Yet, when she had to roll the socket, Arya quickly realised, she needed to concentrate and bit her lower lip. Whereas he stepped closer again then, to lead her through the rest of the steps.

In the end, she had to heat the metal four times more often than he had, and the result was naturally nowhere near as straight and even as his. But Gendry assured, it were fine enough. “Better than my first one.” he even claimed, although Arya doubted that.
Still, she grinned satisfied at the arrowhead in her hand and laughed, “Straighter than any of my stitches, that’s for sure.”
“Seems like your septa was right then after all, huh?” he joined in.
Causing her to shove him, just because she felt like it, “You’re an idiot.”
He caught her wrist at that and pulled her closer, teasing, “So are you, sometimes.” Before he smilingly told her, “I’m proud of you.”
“That makes two of us.” Arya smirked, eyeing her work again, “I’m going to keep this.”
“To rub your septa’s nose in it?” he chuckled.
“Damn right!” Or at least she would, if she ever got back home— Bloody hells, why was she thinking of home now?

However, Gendry got serious again as well, “I guess, I should be heading back to the keep soon.”
“Why?” Arya furrowed her brow, unwilling to ever return there.
“There’s a Small Council meeting before supper.” he explained and sighed, “And apparently my mother wants a word with me before I leave.” Causing Arya to sigh as well. “Will you be coming back with me?” he questioned quietly.
“Not through the main gates.” she growled.
“The tunnels it is then.” Gendry clucked his tongue amused and tidied his workplace, before he headed out of the barn to wash himself and change into his clean attire for the keep. Leaving Arya behind, to admire the first pieces of her very own armour undisturbed in the meantime.

He was insane. Undoubtedly. Still, she loved it. This was the best gift since Needle and her stallion. And she couldn’t wait to see it completed. Bran and Rickon would go green with envy. As would Robb. Only he’d hide it better, but even his stupid all serious lord-façade would stagger for a flash at the sight. Whilst Theon would mock her, Not knowing how else to cope with his envy… Only Jon wouldn’t begrudge her. But chances to show him were even fainter than showing the others. It wasn’t fair! First, Jon at the Wall, where she couldn’t follow. And now this… Why would she have to choose between Winterfell, her brothers and—

“Are you ready?” Gendry questioned, stepping behind her to don her cloak onto her shoulders. No. Nevertheless, Arya nodded. Trying to bury her gloomy thoughts somewhere in the depths of her mind, whilst he pulled her hood up. “Then let’s go.” he took her hand once more and led her out of the smithy, through the shop room onto the streets and down the hill. Yet, not the way she had come.
“Where are we going?”
“Well, since you obviously recall the Flea Bottom route better than I would like, I thought you might want to explore a different tunnel now.” Gendry taunted and gently squeezed her hand, “Also, this way’s shorter.” He pulled her along towards the harbour.

“Will you be going by ship?” Arya asked, seeing the many vessels anchored in the bay right outside the city walls.
“No, we prefer travelling on horseback.” Gendry explained, “The walls aboard have ears, like everything else in this city.”
“Because of Renly and Loras?”
“No, not because of that.” he chuckled. “It’s mostly because of my mother. She hates me going to Storm’s End, to Edric.”
“What’s her problem with him?” Arya growled, “He isn’t at court, doesn’t threaten your claim—”
“And there you’re wrong!” Gendry pulled her closer, whispering, “You understand, Renly won’t sire any heirs, right? Which would make Father his heir.”
“And you after him.”
“Aye, but like my father I’d appoint someone else Lord over the stormlands.”
“And the queen wants you to choose Joffrey?”
“No, Tommen.”
Puzzling Arya, “But Joffrey—”
“Uncle Jaime has no intentions to leave the Kingsguard when I ascend the throne. And considering my grandfather despises Tyrion, my mother hopes he’d name Joffrey his heir instead.”

“I thought Tywin Lannister was the smartest man in the realm?” Arya objected disbelieving.
“And he probably his.” Gendry chuckled, “That’s why he named Tommen his heir. But our mother and Joffrey don’t know about it, yet. So, I must swear you to secrecy on that account.”
“I won’t tell, stupid.” Arya rolled her eyes, concluding, “And Renly will name Edric?”
“Try past tense!” Gendry smirked satisfied, “Happened right after Ed came of age.”
“But what’re you going do with Joffrey, then?”
“That’s the question indeed.” Gendry sighed, before teasing, “Heard the Wall’s a nice cosy place—”
“You can’t!” Arya objected outraged at the idea, “Jon and Uncle Benjen—”
“I was joking.” Gendry nudged her shoulder.
“You better! Or else I’ll have to kill your brother to preserve the sanity of mine.” she growled.
“Don’t worry.” Gendry placated chuckling, “Happens, I have another relative with a keep and a shortage of heirs.”
“Your uncle Stannis?” Arya questioned frowning and he nodded.
“Least, Dragonstone’s close enough to keep an eye on him.”
“But your cousin Shireen—”
“Will be the Lady of Storm’s End.” Gendry winked at her.
“She and Edric?” Arya asked incredulous.
“Aye, secretly betrothed since nigh a year now.” he smiled.

“You worked it out quite neatly, haven’t you?” Arya studied him someway impressed.
“Well, I had a little help here and there from Uncle Tyrion…” he nudged her shoulder once more.
“He helped you to replace himself as heir to the Rock?” Arya questioned disbelieving.
“I’m going to need a Hand one day.” Gendry grinned, afore he realised what he just implied, “Err, I meant no offense against your father—”
“He hates it.” Arya appeased quickly, “He only took the position because your father urged him to.”
“That much was obvious from the start.” Gendry confirmed, “I mean, he’s a smart and considerate man, your father. And when the day comes I’d like to offer him a position—”
“Don’t!” Arya burst out, before she quietly added, “Let him go home…” Us both. And the way he studied her at that, sighing and silently nodding, Gendry seemed to understand what she implied.

“It’s this way.” he spoke again, after they had walked the rest of the way to the Fishmonger’s Square in silence. On the northern end of the market, he pulled her into a small alley. Going left and then right, afore he led her down some steps and opened a narrow cellar door. Inside, Gendry took a torch from the wall and led her down two more staircases and through four storage rooms. Until at the end of the last one a narrow black tunnel started, barred by an iron gate about seven feet deep into the tunnel. There, Gendry reached through the bars and pulled a key out from behind a protruding brick in the wall.
“So, this’s your usual way to the shop?” Arya asked, to finally break the silence once he opened the gate.
“Quite right.” Gendry smiled, pulling her through. “That means, now you’re a full member of the inner circle.” he jested over hanging the key back onto the wall.

“Inner circle of what?” Arya snorted, as he led her further into the passageway, “Your Secret Order of Tunnel Scampers?”
“Precisely that.” he laughed.
“And how many members do we have?” Arya inquired, arching her brow.
“In total?”
“Aye.”
“At the moment?”
“Yeah.”
“Initiated members?”
“Yes…” she rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed.
“Um, let me count. Might take a while, there are so many. Well, that’d be you and me.” Gendry stated tongue-in-cheek.
“Gods, you’re such a stupid twerp.” Arya shoved him.
“Hey! Not my fault— Well, okay it is my fault, our favourite Dornishman jumped ship.” Gendry japed, “But I’m working on that. We’ll have him back aboard in no time. And we’ve a novice.”
“Let me guess, Tommen?” Arya snorted, trying not to think about Ned jumping ship on her.
“Damn, what gave it away?” Gendry laughed.

“And why only Tommen and not Myrcella?” Arya blurted, sounding more snappish than she intended.
Which caused Gendry to stop in his track and turn to face her, “Are you suggesting, I’d leave my sister out because she’s a girl?”
“Aren’t you?” Arya growled, unwilling to row back.
“Alright, let’s say that were the case… Only, what’re you doing here then?” he arched his brow at her.
“I’m not—” she snapped, realising too late, she had stepped right into his trap. Again. Stupid.
“Not what? Not as girlish as my sister? Or yours? So, who’s leaving them out now?” Gendry scoffed and then even hissed, “Rest assured, if my sister wanted to roam about in these tunnels, she would, no matter what I thought of it. And I’d say the same goes for yours. They’re both not here, because they choose not to be.” Damn. Arya was speechless, feeling her ears redden in embarrassment.

Whereas he sighed and stepped closer, “But you choosing to do so, is one of the reasons why I like you.” he dumbfounded her. “And I think, me not going easy on you because you’re a woman, is one of the reasons why you like me.” Gendry whispered and cupped her face with his right hand. Causing her to flush bright red now, yet still lean in to his touch. She even closed her eyes for a moment, but only until her gut instinct made them fling wide open again.
“No,” Arya burst out and pushed him away, “you are going easy on me because I’m a woman!”
“What? When?” he demanded puzzled.
“You watch your mouth when I’m around, you almost never swear in front of me.” Arya growled.
“Pardon, my lady, but swearing like an old sailor wasn’t exactly part of my upbringing.” Gendry mock-bowed to her.
Yet, unwilling to lose this argument as well, she hissed, “And what about the smithy? You always make sure, I won’t see you wash and dress. You even wore a shirt, the one time you knew I was coming…” However, seeing the broad smirk appear on his face at that, made her regret to have ever spoken out this point aloud.
“Well, that’s because you’re a highborn woman. And it’s called basic manners, I believe.” His eyes glinted with absolute mischief now, “But if m’lady insists, of course you may watch next time…”

“That’s not what I meant!” Arya hissed, blushing with shame now, “You’re just trying to distract me, so you won’t have to admit, I’m right.”
“Then name an example, where it’s true and I’ll admit it.” he challenged, still grinning like a fool.
“Whores.” she blurted.
“Beg your pardon?”
“You never answered my question about the whores. That was because I’m a girl.”
“Oh, you’re still nosy about that?” Gendry mocked chuckling.
“I’m not nosy!” Arya snapped, shoving him angrily now.
But he only snorted with laughter, “Yeah, just curious, I know.”
“Stop deflecting! That was because I’m a girl, I know it.” she fumed.
“Sorry, what was the question again?” he still chuckled.
“Why you don’t like whores!”
“I thought we’d agreed, it isn’t a question of liking them, but rather about not requiring their services.” he guffawed, causing her to shove him again. Hard enough, for him to stumble backwards against the wall.
“Deflecting!” she hissed.
“Fine, I may have avoided answering that question, because you’re a—” he appeased.
“Huh, knew it!” she scoffed, smirking triumphant.

“But you know it’s true, right?” Gendry questioned an instant later, looking all earnest now.
“What?” Arya frowned confused at his sudden seriousness.
“That I’m not consorting with whores. Never have and never will.” he assured, studying her then, “And if you really want to know why, I’ll tell you.” At which Arya nodded, without even knowing why she actually cared, whether or not he kept away from whores. He was a free man…
“Well,” Gendry reached for her hand again, dropping his gaze though, “of course, one reason is you. That I… you know, like you… And that I want you to reciprocate that feeling, knowing that you can trust me…” His thumb caressed the back of her hand, causing waves of hot and cold shivers move up her spine.

“But even if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t do it.” Gendry added rather speedy, “You wouldn’t believe— Or rather, you don’t want to know, what I’d to see with a father like mine… at an age, when I certainly wasn’t ready to see such things.” He led Arya further into the tunnel again. “Hells, for seeing my own father like that, I’ll never be ready.” he snorted dismissively. “You surely heard, my parents’ marriage is a mess, with my mother being an envious bitch and schemer and all that… Nevertheless, she doesn’t deserve to be humiliated in such a way. No woman deserves that! And that damn fuckwit doesn’t even see, he’s embarrassing himself as much as her at it…” Gendry seemed to be getting angry. Really angry.

“He gropes and beds anything with a heartbeat! Well, women. As he never fails to sneer at Renly, questioning his manhood and all. But that’s a different story for another time. And I wish, it actually were women, he consorts with. He grows old and unsightly, whereas his bedmates don’t age a day, if you know what I mean. And it’s not just that he wenches around as though it were his goal in life to bed every woman in the Seven Kingdoms before he bites the dust, it probably even is— My point is, he’s the damn king! So, why the fuck can’t he provide these girls with moon tea?” Gendry was absolutely furious now, “He even seems to think, he’s doing them a favour, ‘Putting strong sons and pretty lasses in their bellies’. Bastards, he gives even less a shit about than their mothers. What’s it to him, whether these girls and women can go home to their fathers and husbands, once he’s done with them? Whether they carry his offspring in their wombs then or not? And just nobody cares… Not my father. Not his Councilmen. Not Stannis, who’s too much a prude and snob to care. Even Jon just let him do whatever he liked, be it whoring or wasting his fortunes. Your father at least tries now, but apparently also fails to see, reasoning doesn’t work on that blockhead. You’ve no idea, how much money Renly, Tyrion and I spent on my father’s bastards and their mothers in the past six years. To get them out and away to places, where they can pose as widows and orphans to build themselves a life. Well, the ones we know of…” Gendry talked himself into a rage, like Arya had never thought possible.

“Given my father’s wenching around since he was thirteen, who knows how many there really are? And how many of his girls ended up whores themselves now… Just thinking that makes me feel sick to the core. I even confronted him about that possibility, asked him, if he never feared, the girls in his bed might be his own daughters. You know how he responded? He laughed at me! Asking me in return, if that were the reason why I felt frightened of whores. Before he then proudly told me his secret trick. ‘Just stay away from the ones with jet-black hair.’ he said, can you believe that?” Gendry’s mouth dripped with venom now, “And when I reminded him of my siblings, he just mocked, ‘Then stay away from the blondes as well, if that makes you feel better.’ That damn sod simply gives a shit—” Of a sudden, Gendry appeared to realise that Arya had remained quiet all throughout his rant. He stopped abruptly in his track and turned to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…” he murmured abashed.

“You didn’t.” she assured, squeezing his hand. “I wanted to know, and I understand now. I hadn’t thought of your father. I mean, I knew about his whoring, but I never thought about how that might’ve affected you. I only had my brothers in mind— Well, Theon mostly. I think, he’s in love with a whore in the winter town.”
“Well, as I know your father,” Gendry’s thumb caressed the back of her hand again, “the brothels in winter town—”
“There’s just one.” Arya corrected.
Causing him to chuckle, “Well, no doubt the women there are better cared for and protected than the ones here.”
She nodded, “Father doesn’t like brothels. But he says, it keeps the men in line… keeps them from doing stupid things.”
“That’s the crux of the matter.” Gendry sighed and pulled her along again, “Pity, we men aren’t as reasonable as you women, huh?”
“Did you just admit, men are stupid?” Arya teased mocking.
“Did I ever say otherwise?” Gendry teased back. Nevertheless, they walked the rest of the way through the tunnels in silence then. A nice silence.

Eventually, they came out a different tunnel at the base of the spiral staircase. From there on, Gendry let Arya lead the way, still without letting go of her hand though. But she didn’t mind. In fact, once they entered the vault with the dragon skulls, Arya even thought it a pity, they were already back at the keep. And right back at feeling awkward around him.

At first, they both just stood there next to one another, holding hands and working each their lips over stealing side-glances at the other. “So, here we are…” Arya remarked lastly, desperate to eliminate the awkwardness.
“Apparently.” Gendry chuckled.
“So, you’re going to the council meeting now?” she went on, feeling absolutely stupid and her reddening ears seemed to agree.
“No, there’s still time till that.” he countered quietly. Causing the most stupid part of her to hope, he would spend the remaining time with her. Only then he said, “I think I’m going to hear what my mother has to say beforehand. Undoubtedly nothing fun, probably just another berating… because of you.” Oh. “Or Edric, or both of you. Since who can tell with Cersei Lannister?” he babbled on, caressing her hand once more.

“Well, then I’m better off to find Balerion…” Arya retorted disappointed, withdrawing her hand from his. However, his fingers enclosed around hers quickly.
“Arya?” he blurted, getting her to look up at him again. “Can I write to you? I mean, can I send you a raven when I get there?” he clarified. At which she nodded, biting her lower lip again. “And… will you reply?” Gendry inquired cautiously.
“Depends on the message.” she teased, not knowing whether she would actually dare to reply.
“Gods, sometimes I hate you…” he rolled his eyes at that, yet chuckled.
“The feeling’s mutual.” she snorted amused. Seeing his ears flush now, when he attempted a counter.
But then his glance caught something behind her, causing him to clear his throat, “Looks like he found you first.” Gendry nodded towards the stairs around the corner, where Balerion unhurriedly descended the last steps, to stroll towards them.

“In that case, give my regards to Edric and Brienne.” Arya retorted, taking a deep breath. “And safe travels, Gendry.” she added quietly and withdrew her hand from his for real now, turning to the old tomcat. “Ready for another round?” she challenged Balerion playfully, who promptly hissed in response. Threatening to lash out at her, the cat jumped sideways just in time before she could snatch him.
“Fuck it!” Gendry huffed behind them, startling both. “You can’t send me off without my own story to tell, how I fared against the She-wolf in single combat.”
“I’m not sending you anywhere.” Arya arched her brow amused, yet didn’t turn back around to him.
“That’s no answer.” he shot back impatient, “Will you spar with me now or not?”
“Is this about yesterday?” Arya inquired wary, getting up to face him.
“No, just me being curious.” he declared determined.
“And what about the queen?”
“Ain’t running away.” he scoffed.
“Sparring with sharp blades? Sorry, no, your grace, I prefer not to lose my head over a little scratch on yours.” Arya countered unwilling.

“Happens, I know where to find broomsticks.” Gendry smirked. “Come on,” he grasped her hand again and pulled her along. Past the wine cellars and into one of the storage rooms, where he took a broom from behind a barrel. “That size alright?” he asked and when she nodded, he pulled the brushwood off and handed the stick to her, before choosing one for himself. “Alright, let’s go.” he ushered her out of the room and towards the descending stairs. Only to change his mind an instant later, “No, wait, I forgot something. I’m right back.” He ran larking towards the kitchens, reminding Arya of Rickon; when the little tyke thought up his tricks. Gendry returned a moment later, with a small pink cake on a tin plate.
“I’m not hungry.” Arya mocked frowning.
“Perfect, for this isn’t for you, little wolf. It’s for me, motivation.” he grinned mischievously, “My price when I best you—”

“More like your consolation price, when I best you.” she teased, causing him to lash at her thigh to prove otherwise.
But she easily deflected the blow, “Looks like your brother warned you.”
“Aye, advised me to strike before you’re done talking.” he chuckled. And she used his distraction to try knocking the plate out of his hand. But he saw it coming. “Hey! Not my price!” he protested, moving it behind his back, “I came by it honestly.”
Causing her to snort with laughter, “More like, stole it honestly.” However, he obviously had paid attention to Edric’s warnings and attacked right again, trying to back her up against the wall. But Arya dodged to the side and whirled around, pressing the tip of her makeshift-sword into his back.
“Dead.” she announced smug and dipped her right forefinger speedily into the cake. “Fine enough booby price…” Arya licked the icing contentedly off.
“Hey, hands off my cake!” Gendry turned around, playfully outraged, “You’re worse than the mice in this keep.”

Yet, by the time they returned to the dragon skull vault, his cake had two more holes nevertheless. Despite that he had fought valiantly, defending it as good as he could against Arya’s assaults. Re-entering the large vault, Gendry left the plate up on a sill and spent their entire sparring session protecting it against her raids. Which now that he had both his hands free, became slightly trickier for her. But she had long found his weakness then. “You’re not used to fight without your armour, princeling.” Arya mocked, when he kept hissing in pain at each of her hits.
“And you fully enjoy it.” he growled, rubbing his shoulder.
“Course.” she laughed gleefully. Nonetheless, he was as ambitious as her to win their match. After a while he held back less of his strength, landing quite some blows himself then. And he was a quick study and swiftly changed his tactics, trying to double-cross and surprise her.

Though, in the end it was sheer force that allowed him to best her. Getting eventually hold of her sword arm, he wrenched the stick from her grip. Yet, still unwilling to yield to him, Arya stuck a foot between his legs and tripped him. Only he yanked her down with him, causing them to roll across the floor together. Gendry trying to pin her down, and she wriggling free and punching him, over and over. But he merely laughed at her blows, driving her mad. And especially, when he lastly caught both her wrists in one hand, starting to tickle her with the other. “I guess that cake’s mine now, huh?” he mocked chuckling.
“You mean, what’s left of it?” Arya snorted angrily. She had added eight more holes, making the pastry piece look like a chunk of stinky cheese now.
“Yeah, for not being hungry, you gobbled quite a bit of it. But that’s over now, the rest is mine.” Gendry declared confident, a mere moment afore they heard the tin plate clatter to the ground.
“Or not…” Arya bubbled over with laughter, watching Balerion hop pink-faced from the sill to steal the rest of the icing.
“Damn old traitor, that was my prey.” Gendry scolded, yet guffawed no less.
“Whose cake was it anyway?” Arya inquired, once they both calmed enough to speak again.
“Well, I didn’t precisely ask… But given the marchpane lionheads and rose petals, the baker was about to put onto it, I’d say Joff’s little gift for Margaery.” he chuckled roguish. Causing Arya to laugh herself to tears, before he even finished the sentence.

Which Gendry eventually wiped off her cheeks with his thumb, once they had calmed down again. Cupping her face at it, he studied her wordlessly. Pinning her down with nothing else but his stormy blue eyes, until the last traces of her laughter disappeared from her face as well. Instead, Arya felt her cheeks and ears burn up in glaring red now. Though, unable to move and escape his gaze, she seemed forced to study him in return. He truly was the most handsome man, she had ever seen. His eyes bluer than even the sky. His black hair thick, yet not coarse, it was shiny and just the right amount of waved. His dark brows well-defined, but not too full. His jawline strong, yet not excessive. His straight nose and cheekbones perfectly shaped, spotted with tiny freckles, making him look young and roguish even now. Whereas his short beard stubble, in all the right places, made sure he didn’t look too young. And his lips, they were just… flawless— “Gods, I swear, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you, Arya.” he roused her from her straying thoughts, perplexing her. Only to stun her for good, once his glance wandered to her mouth then, to linger there for a moment afore he bent down further. Cocking his head somewhat, he slowly closed the distance between them and his eyes at it. Was he—

His lips were on hers, before her mind even fully phrased the thought. And as her eyes went wide at the sensation, her heart seemed to stop, only to pound fiercer than ever before an instant later. Whilst once again tingling waves of warmth and cold rippled through her body, causing her tummy to feel as though a swarm of butterflies were caught inside. It was all too much at once, forcing her to close her eyes as well. To feel his stubble lightly chafe her skin, as his lips caressed hers. However, his weren’t the only ones moving—

At that, her eyes flew open with a start, whilst the rest of her body froze. Only to realise, he still held both her wrists, increasing her panic. Fortunately, his eyes flew open an instant later, as he pulled away. Leaving them both to study one another for a moment wide-eyed, until her knee collided with his crotch – out of instinct, to get away. Causing him to roll off of her, groaning with pain, to clutch his private parts. The while she speedily rolled to the other side. Snatching her sword belt off the ground, she ran. “The fuck, Arya! What was that for?” she heard him cursing, but she didn’t wait for him to recover. Arya was out of the vault, to race back to the Tower of the Hand, as though she were running for her life – her mind blank.

However, in her confusion she took the long route, the one she had taken the very first day. Wherefore Gendry eventually caught up with her. Grasping her arm forcefully, he nearly made her slam into his chest. “Arya, stop!” he panted, “What was that?”
“You tell me!” she snapped outraged, “How dare you kiss me?” she wrenched herself free, to continue her flight.
Yet, he stopped her again, “But I thought—”
“Thought what?” she hissed, “That I wanted it?”
“Yes.” he stared at her bewildered, “You could’ve stopped me, could’ve told me to… but you didn’t—”
“Um, yeah! Remember, my knee—” she snarled.
“All too well, rest assured, my lady.” he hissed back, still baffled though.
“Then what’s not to understand?” she scoffed, wrenching free again.
Only he stormed after her once more, “That’s just it! First you kiss me and then that…”
“Have you lost your mind?” she spat livid, “You kissed me, without asking!”
“Aye, and you liked it.” he snarled no less infuriated now, “Or why else kiss me back?” At that, she stopped and turned around, flinging her fist at him. But he dodged the blow.
“Still think, I liked it?” she yelled.
“Hit me all you want, it’s still true! And you know it.” he shouted back.
“You’re nuts!” she spat fuming.
“Yeah, because you drive me so!” he shot back equally mad.

“Arya, there you are!” someone called of a sudden, causing them both to still and become at last aware of their surroundings again. Shit. They stood in the cloistered yard, mere 50 feet away from the archway that led into the gravelled yard outside the Hand’s Tower; from where now Harwin and Desmond approached. Whereas in the cloister around them, half a dozen maids and manservants as well as three Baratheon guards gaped at them. Fuck.
“Your grace,” the two Stark guardsmen greeted him warily and turned to Arya.
“Are you alright?” Desmond inquired seemingly worried, placing a hand on her shoulder to pull her away. And she allowed it, baffling Gendry.
“Are you seriously leaving now just like that?” he called after her in disbelief, “Have you nothing else to say to me?”
Yet, feeling embarrassed in front of her father’s men, and not knowing what else to say to him, she only muttered back over her shoulder, “Safe travels, your grace.”
“Arya, you’ve to be jesting— ” Gendry burst out aghast.
“Apologies, you grace. But our orders are to escort the Lady Arya to the Hand at once now.” Harwin countered rather gruff, urging her and Desmond to a quicker pace.

Chapter Text

Arya knew she was in trouble, even before Desmond led her up the staircase inside the Tower of the Hand. She hadn’t expected for her absence to go unnoticed all day, inwardly she had already been prepared for the anew haranguing. However, the extent of her misfortune Arya only began to understand, once the storey with her father’s solar came into her view. What the—? Finding the wall-hanging there gone and the hidden door now wide open, made her freeze in her step. Fuck. “Come, Arya, your father’s waiting.” Desmond ushered her gently forward and into the solar, to close the door right behind her, leaving her at the mercy of those who had already awaited her inside.

Both her lord father and lady mother, as well as her sister was there, yet, neither of them spoke a word. The Hand of the King sat at his desk, his face sterner than Arya had ever seen it, and his wife stood by his side, making no efforts to conceal her fury. Whereas Sansa leaned in the doorframe of the small balcony behind them, to gaze at Blackwater Bay rather than at her incorrigible sibling, who now reflexively bit her lower lip and tightened her grip on Needle’s hilt, as she felt her facial complexion take on a dark shade of red.

“How long?” Eddard Stark inquired eventually, breaking the deafening silence in his solar at last.
“How long what?” Arya retorted abashed, unsure to what exactly he referred to.
“How long have you and Prince Gendry met in secret?” her father clarified, getting her to swallow visibly.
“You were seen with him in the city.” Lady Stark added swift, intent to strip their daughter any chance of denying it.
“That’s impossible—” Arya burst out thunderstruck, She had her hood up…
“Is it?” the Warden of the North questioned stony-faced, “Were you not with him at Master Mott’s shop today?”
“Are you having me followed now?” Arya exclaimed suddenly outraged.
“No, but apparently I should.” Eddard Stark growled unmoved.
“Then how’d you know?” Arya questioned baffled.
“The queen tasked Petyr to tail her son—” Lady Catelyn answered all too willingly.
“Rubbish, that rat doesn’t work for the queen,” Arya spat defensively, “your fine friend joined forces with Margaery and Joff—”
“Perhaps, but that’s not the point here, Arya.” her father interrupted, sounding more furious than he had ever been with her, “I asked you a question and I’ll have it answered now: Since when are you meeting him in secret?”

“Um…” Arya didn’t know what to say, “I suppose technically since the first day—”
At which Sansa’s head yanked around, “You said, you didn’t know why he chose you!” she snarled in disbelief, whilst their mother gasped for air.
“Technically? What does that even mean?” their father burst out aghast.
“Well, the first time was kind of an accident.” Arya muttered sheepish, “I didn’t know who he was then…” Which made Lady Stark stumble backwards in distress, in need for her husband to stabilise her.
“Oh, gods, she’s ruined.” Catelyn Tully moaned close to despair.
“What?” Arya blurted bewildered, “No, Gendry wouldn’t do that, he’s not like his father—”

“Gendry?” Sansa scoffed dismissively, “What happened to ‘idiot’ and ‘stupid princeling’?”
“So, you’re telling us, he hasn’t furtively visited your chamber?” Ned Stark inquired clearly on edge, dumbfounding Arya for good.
“What the fuck? No, never!” she burst out, “Are you off your heads?”
Unconvinced, her father ignored her swearing, “And you, have you ever been to his?”
“Hells, no!” Arya snorted furious, “We were just friends, until he… did that thing at the tourney.”
“So, he hasn’t touched you?” her lady mother inquired nonetheless.
“No… I mean, not in some improper way.” Arya claimed at once, yet red as a beet now.
“But why did he show you that passageway then?” Lady Catelyn asked disbelieving and clearly confused.

Leaving her daughter no other choice but to let them in on her clandestine friendship with the future king. Well, the basics of it, to put an end to their imaginations running wild. And so Arya told them, how Gendry had found her chasing Balerion in the vaults, and how she had mistaken him for a manservant back then. How he later had insisted to keep their encounter a secret, and how she had thought him a pompous, spoiled prick afterwards, until she accidentally had stumbled across him at Mott’s shop. And how thereafter he had joined her and the others on their rides sometimes, which she had believed were because he had wanted to keep an eye on Myrcella and Trystane.

And for lack of a convincing alternative, why he should show her the hidden door, Arya even revealed, how Gendry had taken her to Flea Bottom prior to the tournament – to the absolute shock of everyone else in the room. Wherefore she promptly assured, she would have found the tunnels eventually on her own anyway, and that he simply had wanted to keep her safe and out of trouble once he showed her the passageways that night.

However, some things Arya left out. Like, how he made her feel ever since she had seen him at the smithy. Or the notes that they had exchanged over the tourney. And of course, the kiss. That, she was just unable to tell. That, she just wanted to forget, to bury it somewhere deep down in her mind, or her heart or wherever… she just didn’t want to think of it again. Ever.

But she told her family, how Myrcella had convinced her to look at his armour designs and to talk to him. Which had made her sneak out in the morning, knowing he would be at Mott’s shop then. Where at first she had thought, they could be friends again, yet on the way back, she had come to realise, they were on two entirely different pages. If not in two entirely different volumes, or shelves, or realms or worlds.

Leaving her parents and sister to ponder for a moment in silence, before they eventually regained their composure enough to discuss what she had revealed to them now. And although everyone knew, with Arya there hadn’t been much persuading needed, her lord father and lady mother still agreed that the crown prince had overstepped more than one boundary with their daughter, endangering her reputation at it.

Eddard Stark was even about to refuse his request for her hand now, but his wife naturally knew to thwart it. Arguing, if anyone else than Petyr would hear of their secret encounters, then Gendry would inflesh Arya’s only chance to prevent her ruin. And Sansa promptly concurred that it were indispensable to have Gendry stand by his word now, but surprisingly she also agreed with Arya on Littlefinger. Telling their mother, it were as good as public knowledge, her old childhood friend feared for his position once Gendry came to the throne.

At which, Lady Catelyn had to sit down for good and her husband swiftly offered her his chair. “Oh, child, what have you done?” Lady Stark whispered more to herself than to Arya, before she actually looked up at her daughter again, “Didn’t you see, how reckless this was? Did you really think, there was no good reason for all the rules and lectures?”
“We didn’t do anything wrong, we were just friends.” Arya objected stubbornly nonetheless.
“You can’t be friends with him, not like that, without a chaperone around… not in the world we live in, and you know that, Arya.” Her lady mother disagreed, despair slowly mixing with disappointment again. “You’re flowered and he’s a grown man, whose not your husband, yet—”
“Yet?” Arya exclaimed, “I’m not marrying him—”
“You should’ve thought of that before you snuck around with him in the middle of the night.” Catelyn Tully countered unyielding.
“It’s the best way to prevent your ruin, Arya—” Sansa added.
“I don’t care!”
“But we do!” Ned Stark growled, “You’re my daughter and I won’t have you defamed and ruined.”

Unfortunately, though, her father had to leave to attend the Small Council meeting soon after, leaving Arya alone at the mercy of her mother and sister. And Catelyn Tully unsurprisingly hit her with questions again at once, why she had met Gendry unchaperoned in the first place, despite knowing how wrong it was, and inquired once more, whether he had touched her or not – evidently not understanding that people could meet in secret without doing that.

And so, Arya was actually glad when Desmond suddenly interrupted them to announce a messenger would wait outside. Only her relief didn’t last much longer, seeing the man entering her father’s solar then wore a Baratheon attire and declared, his message were for her. Of course, that idiot had to dig her an even deeper hole of trouble…

Rolling her eyes, Arya took the scroll of parchment and watched the messenger leave again, before she slowly turned back to her lady mother and sister, who naturally studied her with arched eyebrows now. “What?” Arya huffed.
“What’s that?” Catelyn Tully questioned, nodding at the message.
“How should I know?”
“Show me.” her mother demanded.
“What? No.” What if he mentioned the kiss?
“Show me!” her mother commanded, getting louder.
“It’s sealed…” Arya proclaimed defensive. Stupidly.
“I can see that.” her mother hissed, “Hand it to me!”
“It’s probably nothing, just something stupid… I’ll burn it, I didn’t want to read it anyway.” Arya countered and stepped to the hearth.
“Don’t you dare, young lady!” Catelyn Tully snarled and got up from her husband’s seat, “You’ll hand it to me now!” which made Arya to throw it infuriated onto the desktop.

To watch her mother closely, as she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, knitting her brows at once. Please, nothing about the kiss! Looking up at her daughter again, Lady Catelyn demanded, “Who’s Elinor?” Huh? Oh…
“Err, Master Mott’s servant girl.”
“And what promise did you make the lass?” Lady Stark narrowed her eyes.
“Nothing, just… a gift, some of my old clothes—”
“You’re not giving away your dresses.” her mother hissed.
“Why?” Arya snapped angrily, “I never wanted them, least of all those from the tourney… they go to Elinor or I’ll burn—”
“You’ll do no such thing!” her mother snarled.
“Watch me!” Arya shot back, “Or didn’t you just say, we shouldn’t anger Gendry? He’s with me on this, isn’t he?” she challenged, causing her mother’s jaw to drop.

The very moment when her father returned to his solar, far sooner than he had said. “Ned, what happened?” Lady Stark burst out alarmed, “Please, tell me, you didn’t—“
“No.” her husband growled, “It was just a shorter meeting than expected, the crown prince left for Storm’s End today—” Which caused Lady Catelyn’s glance to shoot back to the parchment in her hands, reading on, her eyes going wide. Fuck.
“What’s that?” Ned Stark furrowed his brow and his wife handed him the message wordlessly.
“Why would he leave of a sudden?” Catelyn Tully demanded, her eyes piercing Arya now.
“He would’ve left anyway…”
“Why? What did you do?”
“He just left a day earlier, Cat.” Lord Stark came to his daughter’s aid, “And maybe him gone for a fortnight or two is for the best—”

“How would that be for the best, Ned?” Catelyn Tully objected aghast at her husband’s ignorance, “When people know she was alone with him in the city, entering some shady houses?” Only now Eddard Stark seemed absorbed in the parchment, reading it twice apparently.
Before he asked as well, “Who’s Elinor? And what delivery will his men collect?”
“That armourer’s maid, she says.” his wife scoffed, “She promised her entire wardrobe to the girl and threatens to burn it all, should we forbid it—”
“What?” Ned Stark blurted, “Child—”
“Not everything, just my gowns from the tournament…” Arya hissed in defense.
“Then let the wench have them!” Sansa butted in again, surprising everyone. “What?” the older Stark daughter snorted, arching her brow, “Arya can’t wear them anymore anyway, it’d only fuel the gossipmongers… and honestly, we’ve a bigger problem at hands with Gendry gone and Littlefinger filling everyone in about them. Margaery and Joffrey will fully exploit this—”

“Yes, we know that, Sansa. But I still find it suspicious that he would leave early all of a sudden.” Lady Stark growled and turned fretted back to Arya, “And I want to know why?” Catelyn Tully pierced her younger daughter with her eyes once more.
“I told you, we had a fight.” Arya huffed, “It’s not my fault, he wants something else than I.” now certain there was no kiss mentioned, Or else they’d be discussing that now.
“Are you sure about that?” her mother arched her brow in disbelief, nodding at the message in her husband’s hands. “He seems rather certain, you return his affection.” That stupid bull-headed… argh—
“Just because he wants it to be true, doesn’t mean it is!” Arya snarled, knowing, if she admitted it to her mother, her betrothal would become an accomplished fact.

Lady Catelyn took a deep breath at that and evidently changed her strategy, “I admit, I was wrong about you and Ned Dayne, and I might’ve pushed you too hard there…” she tried to sound calm and understanding, “But I wasn’t wrong about you returning happy from every of those rides, was I? And had I known, he was there too, courting you as well—”
“Had I known that was courting, I wouldn’t have gone on another ride with either of them.” Arya scoffed angrily, “And I’m not marrying him or whoever else, just because you’re afraid of a little gossip, I can take that.”

After which her parents once more decided to continue their discussion without her and Sansa. They were both grown women! Yet, their parents still made all the decisions for them, as though they were too dense to distinguish right from wrong and good from bad. Only now their parents discussed no longer about, whether a septa should teach them or in which belief they should be raised, but with whom they should share their beds and lives with – as if they couldn’t make up their own minds about such. How could Sansa be okay with that? It wasn’t okay, all but that! It was their lives and their futures.

And a life with Gendry wouldn’t be helping him in the smithy and sparring and having adventures together. It would be feasts and dancing – and that would be the supposed fun part. For in the main, it would be council meetings and audiences and all that nonsense for him, whereas she would become reduced to bearing his stupid heirs. Regardless, whether she wanted children or not.

Arya was old enough to recall her lady mother carrying Rickon in her belly, how in the end, Maester Luwin had even forbid her to walk stairs alone. Fucking stairs! So, she knew precisely, as soon as she were with Gendry’s child, she would lose even the few little freedoms, she might have been able to maintain until then – and particularly, if Gendry hadn’t come to the throne by then, yet. It would be no more riding, sparring, climbing and running. The unborn life inside her would be considered more important, more valuable than her own from the start. And if she would lose it, everyone would deem it her failure. It was always the woman’s fault, no matter what. Particularly, if it should happen more than once. People would blame her. Not the gods, or fate. Or the unborn child, or Gendry. Just her. Even he would blame her, eventually. All it would need, was someone to tell him, she had been riding or sparring beforehand, in disregard of the maester’s instructions. And how long until he would despise her, then?

Arya knew, she couldn’t change, who she was. Not even for him. She knew, she would be miserable as his wife. And eventually, we would feel miserable with her, too – as his father was with his mother. She couldn’t give him what he wanted… what he needed. She simply couldn’t. How could no one else see that? How could he not see it?

With her mind ranting, Arya stormed from her father’s solar to retreat to her chamber. She had barely slumped down on the edge of her bed, though, when a small knock roused her from her thoughts. “You forgot this.” Sansa entered, offering her the scroll of parchment.
“I left it on purpose.” Arya growled, but kept her eyes fixed on the message in her sister’s hand nonetheless.
“Mother thinks you should read it.”
“Does she really think a stupid piece of parchment would change my mind?”
“I don’t know, it might?” Sansa argued and before Arya could object again, she asked unbelieving, “Aren’t you even a little curious about it?”
“Curiosity is what killed the cat.” Arya scoffed, “And made me walk right into Littlefinger’s trap… So, just throw it in the hearth and let’s be done with it.”
“Come on, Arya, even I’m bursting with curiosity.” her sister teased on cautiously.
“You haven’t read it?” Arya asked baffled.
“I’m curious, not nosy.” Sansa countered evidently sore, triggering unknowingly a memory of him. Aren’t you a nosy one? Gendry whispered in the back of Arya’s mind.
“They read it. So why shouldn’t you?” she growled, unwilling to delve into recollections of him now.

“Are you sure?” her sister retorted surprised and studied her for a moment, before she actually unrolled the parchment. Leaving Arya to study her countenance in return then. It almost told a story of its own. First, there was no reaction, then Sansa’s brow furrowed somewhat worried. Followed by a small giggle, afore her eyes went wide. Finishing with another amused chuckle, Sansa looked grinning up at Arya again, “Believe me, you want to read this.”
“Why are you of a sudden supporting it— him?” Arya narrowed her eyes, “You’re afraid my ruin means yours, aren’t you?” wiping her sibling’s smile off her face.

“You’re my sister, for the gods sake!” Sansa hissed now offended for good, “Of course, I don’t want you defamed and ruined. And yes, I think, politically the best strategy would be to just accept his proposal, to keep all these vicious creatures here at bay…” The older of the sisters paused to take a deep breath, before she went on calmer again, “Yet, unlike Mother, I always knew, you belong as much to court as the wolves belong into a kennel. That’s why I know, you’ll never accept him. You just can’t. Which long-term is probably even for the best, for the both of you and the realm… And of course, I’m not keen to be slandered again. I thought I’d die of shame after the tournament, I’d never felt so humiliated in my entire life, as on that day in the arena… I didn’t understand, what I had done to repel him so gravely, that he’d deem you a better a choice for a queen than me. It didn’t make any sense, you being you, the all wild and reckless tomboy… I felt like a complete failure.” Sansa sighed and continued in an even softer tone, “But I get it now, he simply fell in love with you and not with me. I mean, I’ll most likely never understand why exactly, but at least I know now how… And oddly, it doesn’t hurt as much as I’d thought it would. Somehow, the pity and sneering behind my back distresses me more than him choosing you.” Sansa sat down next to her at that, “And like Mother said, we were wrong about the man, but not about the effect he has on you, Arya. He does make you beam with joy and grin like a bloody fool… I never had that, not with him or anyone else before. So, you have no idea, how badly I envy you right now, little sister.”

“You don’t want any of this, believe me, Sansa—” Arya muttered abashed.
“But I do! It’s all I ever wanted… and why I think you should read this.” Sansa offered her the scroll once more, “Or I could read it aloud, though I think that would ruin it… Arya, this’s something you should hold on to, no matter what you decide about him. So, you can read it when you’re old and grey and smile to yourself like Old Nan, or boast with it in front of your grandchildren… or mine, if you don’t want any. You could tell them the tale of ‘The She-wolf That Stole a Prince’s Heart’, I bet my girls would love that story—”
“Fine, give me the damn thing!” Arya rolled her eyes, equally amused and annoyed at her sister’s wild ideas. “I wager, it’s not even half as good as you want me to believe—” Only it was. Stupid. Stunning. Awful. Beautiful. Terrible. Amazing. All at once.

“Lady Arya, I assumed you would want to keep your promise to Elinor, despite our latest disagreement. Therefore, I instructed some of my men to collect your delivery in the morning. Should you have changed your mind though, then just tell them, and do not worry about Elinor – I doubt, she thought you were serious. Nevertheless, I hope that you are. GB.” his message read, but it was the post scriptum that left Arya speechless, “P.S. I changed my plans and will leave for Storm’s End tonight. For this time, it is not solely you that is mad. This time, I am just as mad at you. I have had enough of you pushing me away, pretending, I were the only one that feels this way – you know what I mean. Though, in case you do not, I am writing it down now, to make sure that you do: I love you. Yes, you read that correct. I, that is stupid bull-headed Gendry of House Baratheon, do love you, the ever so stubborn and fierce Lady Arya of House Stark, also known as the She-wolf of Winterfell. And I hope, you had a good laugh at my expense reading it, but now I want you to think about what this means to you. And to give you the time and peace to do so, I promise, I shall not pester you with any ravens. If you want one anyway, you will need to send me one, first. But I doubt that you will. So, goodbye for now.”

She stared at the parchment, her cheeks and ears glaring bright red, while she tried to keep her growing smile in check. It’s just words. Just a stupid row of stupid letters, she told herself. And still her eyes remained fixed on the three words, as her fingertips traced them involuntarily. “See, that’s what I meant.” Sansa burst out excitedly. “For this,” she pointed at her sister’s flushed face, “even I’d sneak through filthy tunnels full of bugs and rats—”
“He kissed me.” slipped out from Arya’s lips before she knew.
“What?” Sansa gasped taken aback.
“Please, don’t tell Mother and Father… at least not Mother, she’ll make me marry him, if she knows.” Arya pleaded wide-eyed, shocked over own lack of control, “It was nothing, just a tiny quick one today after sparring… I accidentally kissed him back, but when I noticed, I stopped and slammed my knees between his legs. That’s why he’s vexed…”
For a moment, Sansa only stared at her, but then giggled, “Did you just reveal to me your darkest secret?”
“You can’t tell anyone!”
“I won’t, I swear.” Sansa placated and taunted chuckling, “So, my wild baby sister allowed a man to steal a kiss and live? Who would’ve thought that possible, half a year ago?” Most definitively not me, Arya thought sighing and stared at the three little words right below the centre of the parchment again. What a mess she had manoeuvred herself into… out of all men in the world, it had to be him…

“There’s someone.” Sansa whispered, rousing her from her thoughts.
“Where?” Arya asked confused.
“He’s leaving me gifts in the godswood, on an old tree stump near the entrance.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know… It started the day after the tournament.” Sansa let her in, blushing, “A white rose, the first day. Though, I didn’t take it, for I thought it were for someone else. Then the next day it was a winter rose. Which I left there as well, assuming, it were from Ned for you… you know, because of the white and blue. But then on the third day, I found a silver ribbon there, placed under a small rock with my name carved in. So, I took it… And since then I keep finding things there every time I leave the godswood, well, when I go there at my usual time—”
“And you have no clue who it is?” Arya questioned disbelieving.
“Well, I’d thought he’d reveal himself after a couple of days, but now it’s over a fortnight… I thought of asking Jeyne to come pray with me, but she obviously can’t keep her mouth shut when it comes to it—”

“I can go with you.” Arya offered prompt, assuring, “I’ll catch him, don’t worry—”
“No! I don’t want to scare him off… no offence, sister.” Sansa declined, perplexing her.
“But what if it’s some creep?” Arya countered outraged.
“He isn’t.”
“Sansa, just because he’s leaving you sweet gifts, doesn’t mean—”
“How dumb do you actually think me?” Sansa arched her brow accusingly.
“I didn’t mean…” Arya retorted abashed, “It’s just, how can you know, he’s not a weird creep—?”
“He’s not, rest assured.”
“But how—”
“Fine, but don’t get angry at me now,” Sansa sighed, causing Arya to frown wary. What did she do?

“I asked Ned for help.” Sansa blurted and swiftly explained herself, “You see, he was the only one, I could rule out. And I trust him…”
“Okay…” Arya murmured, not knowing what to think of this unexpected alliance.
“Well, Ned went with me a couple days ago,” Sansa went on, “to keep watch while I prayed—”
“And he didn’t catch him?” Arya questioned unbelieving.
“He did.” Sansa chuckled, “But he turned out someone he knows, who made him swear not to tell me. Apparently, he wants me to guess who he is. But Ned assured me, it’s someone kind and honourable and a suitable match.”
“And you think it’s that Ser Lucas?”
“Well, Ned knows him, but I’m not so sure. I asked him, if he’d ever been to the godswood here and he sounded as though I wouldn’t know, the Blackwoods follow the old gods, too. He told me about their dead weirwood tree and all. So, either it’s not him, or he’s a really good actor…”

“Then let me help!” Arya offered once more, “Whoever it is, he can’t make me swear—”
“No, Arya, I don’t want to scare him away.” Sansa objected right again.
“He won’t even know I’m there.” Arya rolled her eyes, “He leaves your gift and I tail him and tell you afterwards…”
“No, please, not yet. If I’m too stupid to find out on my own, then you can follow him. But for now I don’t want to ruin whatever this is.” Sansa declined. “I only told you, because you told me about the kiss. Since you can’t tell Father and Mother about this either, they’d only task Jory and the others to apprehend him, after all that happened with you. And I don’t want him to stop, I know it’s silly, but it’s… nice. And so incredibly romantic, don’t you think?”
“Let’s settle for nice.”

Yet, a moment later, Arya heard herself saying, “For the time of the tourney, Gendry left me messages behind the hidden door.”
“What messages?” Sansa studied her curiously.
“You know, just stupid little notes…” Arya began sheepishly, telling her sister what she had left out earlier with their parents. She couldn’t say, why of a sudden and out of all people she would let Sansa in, who she had never really gotten along with before. But it somehow felt right now. And Arya couldn’t deny the relief she felt afterwards – being finally rid of some of the weight on her mind. Though, of course Sansa teased her promptly, how absolutely romantic she thought everything and in particular the secret notes. Declaring, now Arya would have all the more reason to keep Gendry’s latest message, after she had had to burn all his previous ones.

“Should I maybe leave him a message?” Sansa asked of a sudden. Great, now their mother would fry her alive.
“I don’t know, Sansa.” Arya objected, “What if you get caught?”
“I could leave it on the stub, when I enter the godswood and he picks it up while I pray.” Sansa argued, her mind apparently already set, “And if I write as vague as you and Gendry did, who could prove it’s my note?”
“Sansa, that’s precisely how all the trouble for me started, me thinking I couldn’t get caught.” Arya warned, “And it’s hardly anonymous, if there’s a stone with your name on it.”
“Don’t be silly, that wandered naturally straight into my desk’s drawer.” Sansa countered, getting all the wrong ideas, “And should Mother find it there, I could say Rickon made it, like you did with the necklace—” Seven hells…

“You do realise, you sound exactly like me now?” Arya arched her brows in disbelief.
“And you sound like Mother.” Sansa teased back giggling.
“Well, I’m not the one doting on some stranger that doesn’t even show his face.” Arya snapped, feeling inevitably offended by this comparison.
“You think me stupid, do you?” Sansa shot back hurt.
“No, I’m just saying, be careful.” Arya placated swiftly. “Especially now, with everyone trying to get back at me…”
“Mayhap, I could ask Ned to give him the note? You know, just the first one, in which I explain where and when I leave my messages, like behind the stump?” Sansa suggested, trying to win her sister over, “Don’t you see, I could ask him questions then… find out quicker who he is?”

At that, Arya took a deep breath, to refrain from telling her sister again, she were the quickest way to find that out… She could still check him out, behind her sister’s back. Just to make sure, he was no prick— No! Her sneaking around in the godswood would only draw the wrong people’s attention to her sister and her mystery suitor. She couldn’t risk ruining this for Sansa. Not again. And most of all, Arya didn’t want to spoil whatever it was, that of a sudden allowed her to actually bond with her sister…

Sansa stayed with her until nightfall. To discuss her secret admirer and the other men that tried to woo her. And for a while, the two sisters even talked about Ned, about potential strategies for Arya to win back his friendship. Afore Sansa then brought up Margaery’s lousy attempts to drive a wedge between them, causing both of them to shake their heads at the viper’s insatiable ambitions.

Neither of the sisters could fathom, how one could even consider to wed Joffrey – just for the tiny chance that maybe together they could overthrow Gendry one day. It made both of them agree, the snake couldn’t be half as smart as they had thought her, or else she would be chasing after Tommen now. Given, there were so many possibilities to rid the world of both his older brothers. Arya and Sansa played several dead certain scenarios through for fun. A fire in a bed chamber. Choking on some food or vomit, only that would look a lot like poisoning. A bee sting to the throat. A slip on a steep staircase after too much wine. An eroded balcony balustrade. A riding accident. A splintering lance in a joust. A heavy blow to the head in the turmoil of a melee. Pirates sinking a ship. A straying arrow or crossbow’s bolt on a hunt. A tree overthrowing on them after a heavy storm. And of course Greyscale, and other nasty diseases. “Or why not simply seize Gendry and Joffrey and lock them both away in some hidden cavern?” Sansa suggested, “Eventually, the king would need to exclude them from succession then, to preserve his lineage.”
“Even better, put them in the same cave and they murder each other.” Arya added at that.
“Within a day, and no one would doubt it.” Sansa agreed laughing.
“Aye, and you could swear black and blue, you meant to return them safely after a fortnight.”
“But no, Margaery pursues Joffrey instead…” Sansa mocked snickering.
“Bloody moron.”

It was fun to lark about like that with Sansa. To come up with all the ways and possibilities, how one could get rid of both Joffrey and Gendry, which the Tyrells apparently failed to see. It helped Arya to get her mind off her own trouble with the latter of the two men, at least for a while.

For as soon as Sansa left her chamber, to give her the privacy to bathe, a storm broke loose in Arya’s mind, leaving her brooding in her steaming tub. One moment, her fingers traced over her lips, as she stared in blank astonishment at the parchment scroll on her bed. Only to groan in frustration an instant later, clenching her fists and hurtling them down with full force, she splashed water over half the floor at it. Just why did he have to kiss her? When they finally talked again… And why the fuck had she kissed him back? “You don’t want to be his stupid queen, you bloody fool!” Arya chided herself.

She stayed in the tub until her fingers looked more wrinkly than Old Nan’s face, and a shiver made her realise the water had cooled down. She didn’t known how late it was by then, but unmistakably too late to call the maids to empty the tub. So, Arya rubbed herself dry, brushed and braided her hair and slipped under her bedcovers. Where his silly message found its way back into her hand right away, forcing her to read it over and over. Gods, he’d really turned her into a silly goose, Arya scolded herself, yet read it right again, before she lastly threw it onto her desk. To spend yet another night tossing and turning because of him. For as soon as she closed her eyes, she felt his lips on hers once more. Almost as though it happened for real again, whereas somewhere in the depths of her mind, his voice whispered the three most stupid words in the world. Damnit.

Chapter Text

After another rather sleepless night, Arya had completely forgotten about her arrangement with Gendry, and had to improvise in the morning, once his men arrived to take her dresses to Elinor. Opening the smallest of her trunks, she pulled out its contents and threw them flying over her shoulders all across her bedroom floor, to quickly stuff her gowns from the tourney sloppily inside. So, Cayn and Desmond could take it downstairs, whilst Arya followed right behind, To make sure, her lady mother wouldn’t secretly keep anything. However, seeing the wall-hanging back in its place across her father’s solar, made her inevitably stop in her track. What the—? For a moment, she solely stared at the damn thing, before she pushed the fabric forcefully aside. Only to find the small door behind all boarded-up. Of course… Arya scoffed to herself and continued sullenly down to the tower gate, to bid her despised wardrobe good riddance, as the two Baratheon manservants carried her trunk away over the yard.

Taking a deep breath, Arya withstood the urge to simply dart across the yard to the royal stables herself, and headed back upstairs to their private dining hall instead. To hear her parents’ great plans for her, she thought cynically. Placing a piece of bread and some fruits onto her plate, more to keep her hands busy than out of appetite, she slumped down in her seat at the table. “I’ve come to a decision.” Eddard Stark spoke, seeing his daughter poke listless at her food again, “In order to put an end to the rumours and your improper encounters,” This was it, he’d demand of her to marry him… or Ned, or someone else entirely. Arya clenched her fists under the table, prepared to rant once more, rather than actually listening what her father told her at that, “I’m sending you home.”

Which came so unexpected, it took her a moment to process, to understand. Yet, once Arya finally did, she burst out confused, “And how exactly would that stop the rumours?”
“It won’t.” Lady Stark scoffed, “In fact, it’d only fuel the gossipmongers. Especially, if you leave before the crown prince returns—”
But her husband disagreed, “Cat, I’m not waiting until actually something happens between them.”
“I can go home?” Arya blurted unbelieving, “For real, this time?”
“Aye.” her lord father confirmed, “You’re going home now, I promise. And should the crown prince mean to court you still, then he’s always welcome to visit you in Winterfell, chaperoned by Robb and Theon, though.” Seven hells, no… The damn fool would probably even do so!

“Unless, he takes it as an insult.” Lady Stark objected once again.
“How could he possibly feel aggrieved by me sending my daughter home to our ancestral keep, after what he did?” Eddard Stark questioned unyielding.
Causing Catelyn Tully to roll her eyes, “He’s a prince, Ned, used to get what he wants—”
“Then it’s past time, he learns not to get everything he wants!” her husband countered furious, afore adding slightly calmer, “And it’s about time, he sees more of the realm than only ever the crownlands, stormlands and the westerlands.”
“Ned, this isn’t about reason and politics—” Lady Catelyn tried anew to get her husband to reconsider his plan.
But he remained unwavering, “My decision is final. Jory’s already looking for a passage for her to White Harbour—”
“Wait, I’m not going by ship!” Arya objected aghast, “I’m not leaving without my steed.”

Although, her father instantly explained that while five Stark guardsmen would accompany her on the vessel, Harwin and four more men would escort her mount home on the kingsroad, Arya wasn’t swayed at first. Until she realised, this was indeed her only way out of the capital that left him no time to catch up with her to head her off somewhere along the way. At least not by himself.

Hugging her father now fiercely, Arya felt overjoyed with relief, like she hadn’t in over a moon’s turn, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She could go home, at last. This southern nightmare would finally come to an end. She would be in Winterfell in no time, reunited with her brothers and Nymeria and Theon and Mycah once more…

Having that in prospect, put Arya in such a good mood, she even allowed Sansa to persuade her into joining her and Myrcella on their stroll with Trystane and Ser Lucas that morning. Regardless her sudden cheerfulness, though, Arya naturally still skipped the princess’s private needlework session with her most favoured ladies-in-waiting at the sandstone pavilion in the orange orchard beforehand their walk. So, it was only an hour later when she headed to the orchard herself, to find her sister and Myrcella there.

However, she had barely left the Tower of the Hand, once she noticed, the keep folks eyed her now even more blatantly than they had after the tourney. At first, it was only servants, who huddled together to whisper behind her back as soon as she had walked past them. They could wag their tongues bloody for all she cared, once she was out of here… But nosy maids and boasting manservants weren’t the only ones that added their yarn to Littlefinger’s tale. Some of Margaery’s vultures spotted her eventually in an overgrown tree tunnel in the mid-level gardens and felt the prompt urge to tail her – most likely hoping, Gendry’s departure were a mere ruse and they could catch them in the act now. Unfortunately, though, the numb nuts couldn’t simply follow her in silence. Once more, they goaded each other to jibe her louder and bolder, why Arya ‘of a sudden’ wore men’s clothes now – clothes that clearly didn’t fit or belonged her. How she had come into possession of them. Whether they were Gendry’s. If he perhaps had given them to her, so she could hide something, they conjectured, “Like mayhap a swelling belly?” Seven hells!

Running out of patience, Arya stopped and whirled around to face them. “I’ve four brothers! So, guess again, pea brains, where I got this attire from…” she snarled, “And not that it’s any of your damn business, but since your lives apparently depend on knowing this, here’s your answer, I simply like wearing trousers and I’m not hiding anything, see?” She lifted her shirt, to reveal her perfectly flat stomach, causing the women to gasp in shock at the sight of her uncovered bodice-less skin. Bloody morons, Arya rolled her eyes at them, and was about to continue in her way.
Yet, hearing one of them whisper, “Evidently owing to moon tea.” made her spin around once more.
“Seriously?” she hissed, “I never once had moon tea in my life!”

“I suppose, some girls are just overall lucky, huh?” another one sneered.
And a third scoffed, “Or barren, as it obviously runs in the family—” which caused Arya to lose her temper for good now.
“Say that again and I’ll gut you, you mendacious bitch!” she threatened the woman and grasped Needle’s hilt. “My sister’s not barren, and neither am I! Unlike the whole ninny lot of you, we’re simply able to keep our legs closed—”
“Unless there are dragon skulls around.” the woman mentioning the tansy tea jeered.
“You were seen, she-wolf…” a fourth added gleefully.
And another sneered unapologetic, “Aye, that poor scullion was completely unhinged after seeing you and him… on top of you—”
“What?” Arya blurted bewildered, feeling a blush creeping up her neck. That can’t be…

“My ladies!” someone snapped then of a sudden, causing the entire bevy to turn around with a start, to find Tommen glaring at them now. “Questioning the Lady Arya’s honour is tantamount to questioning my brother’s, which’s about the stupidest thing you could do in this keep, and not just in my presence… Save, of course, you’d all rather discuss the matter in an audience with the queen now?”
“Your grace, we didn’t mean to defame your—” some of the girls placated close to panic.
But the young prince ignored them and hissed, “Let me make one thing abundantly clear here, my ladies, I consider both Stark sisters dear friends of mine and I won’t have either of them maligned!”
“Yes, your grace. Apologies, your grace.” the petty tyrants stammered red as beets.
“It’s not only me you owe an apology.” Tommen growled unmoved and stepped past them next to Arya.
“Of course, your grace. Apologies, Lady Arya.” Margaery’s puppets muttered into her direction.
Whilst Tommen offered, “My lady, would you allow me to escort you the rest of your way?”
“Gladly, your grace. Just a moment, though.” Arya chirped amused and turned back to the other women. Narrowing her eyes, she snarled at them, “I don’t care what you think or say about me, but libel my sister again and you won’t hear me coming, when I cut your throats in your sleep.”
“You do know, they’re all dying of sleep deprivation now?” Tommen snickered beside her, once the two of them were out of earshot of the vultures. Hopefully, and soon please.

It was only about a thousand feet to the orange pavilion then, but the young prince grudged no pains to cheer Arya up along the way there. Afore he then also decided to join them for their stroll – so she wouldn’t get bored alongside the two pairs of lovebirds, he claimed. But Arya suspected, he rather felt obliged to shield her from the gawking eyes, she met now everywhere.

She worried far less about these onlookers and all the more about what the vultures had said, about the scullion watching her and Gendry in the vaults. Because that was true, partially at least… And under no circumstances could word of it reach her mother’s ears. Nevertheless, Arya forced herself to stop pondering about it eventually and told herself, it wouldn’t matter anymore. In a sennight or two she would be gone.

Instead, she tried to focus on Ser Lucas, to assess whether he was her sister’s secret admirer or not. At first, Arya hadn’t deemed him much of a romantic – handsome, yet somehow dull. Until towards the end of their walk, he suddenly disappeared between two large hedges, to return again with a single red rose for Sansa. His house’s colour. Mayhap, it was him after all? And the glance her sister cast her at that, made clear, the same thought had crossed her mind. Seven hells, how could Sansa be so patient with her stupid mystery suitor? Arya rolled her eyes, knowing she would have laid him a snare the day after left the ribbon.

But her sister was a hopeless romantic and consequently invited Ser Lucas along to their ride later in the afternoon, even though that originally should have been a sole Stark and Baratheon siblings affair. To which Tommen had looked forward in particular, to finally test his fiery new stallion against Arya’s. For their entire walk, he had raved about the superb hunting steed, the king had gifted him in recognition of his bravery and accomplishments in the tournament.

And so the five of them left the keep three hours past midday, escorted by Ser Jaime and Ser Arys Oakheart, as well as by Harwin and Alyn. They rode most of the way at a canter or quick trot, until they came to an old apple orchard by a small stream, which they had chosen as their resting place on several previous rides before. Giving Tommen finally the chance, to challenge Arya and Harwin, as well as Ser Arys and Ser Lucas to race him on his new mount. And for a moment, Arya even considered to let the youngling win, yet decided against coddling the future Lord of the Rock then and won the race by far. But the young prince didn’t appear too disappointed about this outcome. He evidently took great pride in outrunning at least Ser Arys and Ser Lucas by a good three horse’s lengths, As he should.

His victories in this past tourney had clearly only fuelled Tommen’s confidence and competitiveness. For once they all had some refreshments back at the brook, he even challenged Arya to a sparring duel, causing Myrcella to roll her eyes at him, “You fool will best our brothers soon enough!”
“Why wait that long?” Tommen snorted unwavering, “Arya’s done it with Ed, and I want to know how.” And the two of them cut themselves a pair of hazel branches and went to work, before their sisters could object any further.

Sparring with the young prince turned out indeed a pleasure. Unlike his older brothers, Tommen never held back his strength with her, reminding Arya once more of Bran. But the lad also proved an eager student, and their duelling quickly became a lesson. A fun one, causing even Sansa to chuckle every once while, when Arya beat the youngling with yet another trick. Though, of course her sister assured promptly, “You’re doing great, your grace! Our brothers know her moves thoroughly and she still finds ways to best them.” A compliment from Sansa? Arya certainly wasn’t used to that. But it was nice. The entire afternoon was – a welcome distraction from what had occurred with the vultures and with Gendry the day before. But it also made Arya realise, She’d miss this, her rides with her southern friends. She’d miss them.

However, only later that day, at night abed, she began to fully understand what leaving them all would actually mean for her. After her father had disclosed to her and her sister during supper that she would board a vessel to White Harbour in nine days’ time – making her departure of a sudden painfully real.

Arya had wanted to go home, ever since their carriage had rolled past the last houses of the winter town over half a year ago. Yet, only now that she finally could, she realised with a start what she would need to leave behind. Her father and mother, who she wouldn’t see again, For who knows how long? Years, should the king not drop dead out of the blue. And Sansa. Would she ever see her again? What if she married a man that lived far off the coast or the kingsroad? No matter, how annoying her sister could be, Arya knew now, She’d miss her dearly. And she didn’t want to say goodbye to her for good. Not now, once they finally got along.

And Ned… Seven hells! She was running out of time to make amends with him. If he couldn’t forgive her within the next eight days, She’d lose his friendship for good. For he wouldn’t remain in the capital forever. Eventually, he would return to Starfall, to rule his people and to start a family there… To have all damn Seven Kingdoms sunder him and her, then.

And what about Myrcella and Tommen and Trystane? Would she ever see any them again? Tommen perhaps, should he still want to see the direwolves once he came of age. Or Jeyne? Vayon Poole clearly hoped, he could match his only daughter with some minor knight, or that Sansa would take her into her services one day… And with Balerion it would most definitively be a goodbye forever. The feisty tomcat was simply too old already. Bloody hells, to Renly and Loras she wouldn’t even get to say goodbye! the two noblemen had left for Storm’s End early in the morning. And Arya doubted, she would ever see them or Brienne and Edric, or Hot Pie and Lommy again…

And Gendry, to him she wouldn’t get to say goodbye, either. Though, that was for the best. She hadn’t known what to say to him for the most part of the previous day. So, how could she possibly say goodbye to him? No, this was perfect. She would be gone before he returned, and they could both move on with their lives. She in Winterfell, with her brothers… And he… he would find someone else, to hold hands with, to… Arya didn’t even dare to think it.

But as usual, her mind refused to obey. Leaving her tossing and turning in frustration… and something else. It hurt, in her chest. And as soon as she closed her eyes, she could feel his breath against her skin, his lips caressing hers again – gently, yet determined. Though, instead of staring at her stunned afterwards, his face now turned into the hurt expression from the arena, demanding to know, “Why?” And she had no answer to that besides, I’ve to go home, where I belong…

Opening her eyes again with a huff, Arya scowled at the canopy above her bed. How was this even possible? She finally got what she had wanted all along, for her parents to accept that she didn’t belong in the south. She should be happy! Celebrating. She had won… Only she didn’t feel like it. Arya felt miserable. She would leave her parents and sister behind… would lose her two best friends, both at once. Of which one she… Would she ever feel something like this again? Hardly! No one in the North had those eyes… or that smile.

But she would be with her brothers and Nymeria again, Arya tried to comfort herself. And mayhap Jon could come home for her nameday? Or perhaps Robb would allow her to visit him and Uncle Benjen at Castle Black for a while? Yes, she’d bring Robb round on that, seeing Jon would help… For she had to give up Gendry… forget him, if she ever wanted to feel whole again, Arya realised at some point past midnight. Yet, only another hour later she came to conclude, There was no nothing, she could do about Gendry, but she could make the most of her remaining time in the south. And she would! she instructed herself, when she lastly drifted off to sleep.

Thus, while Sansa spent the next morning once more with Myrcella and her friends doing embroidery and going on a stroll with some Ser Podrick of the westerlands afterwards, Arya drafted a letter for Ned in the meantime.

At first, she had thought of telling him, she would depart for the North in a mere eight days, but eventually decided against it. Applying pressure to him was the last thing she wished. Even though, it made her task all the more difficult, leading inevitably to heaps of scrunched up parchments on her bedchamber floor. Arya even had to steal some more parchment from her lord father’s solar. Until she lastly gave up, realising, it didn’t matter how well-spoken she phrased her apologies. It depended all on Ned, on his willingness to even read and accept them. So, she copied her latest crumpled up draft in her finest handwriting, sealed it and tasked Desmond to take it to Ned – before she could change her mind on its phrasing yet again.

Leaving Arya then less than an hour to practise her sword fighting until her sister returned from the gardens, to dress for their afternoon picnic with the royal siblings and Trystane, and apparently Sansa’s most eminent suitor so far.

However, instead of simply dropping in to remind her to bathe, Sansa closed the door behind herself now, “You’re in trouble, big time.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Arya objected prompt, halting midway through her twist move.
Are you sure about that?” her sister inquired, arching her brows. “The Tyrell cousins tell everyone, who’s keen to listen, you would’ve shown them your naked stomach yesterday.”
“Yeah, because those numb nuts thought I was with child.” Arya scoffed.
Causing Sansa to shake her head, “Oh, Arya, you furnished them a fit occasion. Those numb nuts swear now black and blue, they would’ve seen your swelling belly and that you threatened to murder them, should they tell anyone.” What the fuck?
“They’re twisting everything…” Arya snapped outraged, “I’m not with child, I… we didn’t do that!”

“I know. You’re reckless, but not that stupid.” Sansa placated, yet reprimanded nonetheless, “But I thought you understood by now, how the rumour mill here works at court. Everyone’s going nuts about this now, wondering about the child’s begetter. Most folks naturally suspect Gendry, thinking that why he’s so determined to marry you, to fix his mistake. And Ned’s logically their next likely candidate, but they’re not the only ones. Myrcella’s ladies heard all kind of names, even Trystane’s—” “What?” Arya’s jaw dropped, “That’s ridiculous, I never even once saw him without Myrcella present…”
“Well, obviously someone wants to get back at her, too, and hopes to drive a wedge between the two of you.”
“Will you tell Mother?” Arya questioned alarmed, fearing Lady Catelyn would get her husband to reconsider her passage to White Harbour now again.
“No.” Sansa sighed, “But she’ll hear of it eventually and so will Gendry, once he arrives at Storm’s End—”
“No! What if he comes back?” Arya burst out wide-eyed, “Before I’m gone?”

“That’s probably for the best, sister.” Sansa sighed once more, “Joffrey and Margaery don’t fear Myrcella and Tommen as they fear him, let alone Littlefinger… And the queen’s probably laughing up her sleeve right now that she didn’t even need to lift a finger to get rid of you, with them three doing all the dirty work… Which leaves us only with the king and Gendry to put an end to this malicious falsehoods, at least some of them—”
“How?” Arya demanded warily.
“Well, a betroth—”
“No, I’m going home!” Arya snapped at once.
“Oh, you’re so going home now! Even if you wouldn’t want to… Once Father hears of this, he’ll have you back in the North as quick as he can.” Sansa snorted, but added then somehow worried, “I just hope, he won’t send me home as well now—”
“I won’t allow that.” Arya promised, knowing, Or else Sansa would hate her forever. Though, first she had to get ready for the picnic now, to not alert their mother herself that something was amiss again…

They met with the others in the courtyard about an hour later, where Myrcella and Tommen invited Arya to join them and Trystane in their carriage, leaving Jeyne to chaperone Sansa with Ser Harrold Hardyng in the second one. Though, naturally the two siblings hadn’t solely done so to give Sansa some time alone with her suitor. Arya had barely taken her seat next to her friend, once the princess assured, she and Tommen would have asked the king and queen to intervene on the matter of these new rumours. “Seeing Margaery whisper ideas to Joff scares Mother far more than you ever could. She’ll put these unfounded defamations to a rapid end, rest assured.” Myrcella promised.

Which then in return forced Arya to let her companions in about her imminent departure – that would obviate the need for the queen to intervene. At least on her behalf. However, this disclosure came as an absolute surprise to her friends, given the awkward silence that prevailed in their carriage at that. Even though, Arya added quickly that all of them were welcome to visit her at Winterfell at any time. It allowed the princess to regain her wits, “Of course, understandable… and you always said, you wanted to return to the North.” But Arya noticed the disappointment in her friend’s voice and countenance – Myrcella had unmistakably hoped, she would eventually give in and marry Gendry.

Tommen on the other hand, seemed to forgive Arya rather sooner than later. By the time they reached their picnic site, a small pond amid a lime tree holt, he was thrilled to the bits at the prospect of visiting the North soon. The young prince hit both Stark sisters and Jeyne with questions – about the direwolves and Winterfell, the Wall and the Night’s Watch and the Wildlings, the Neck and the Crannogmen, the mountain clans and the warrior women of House Mormont, and of course about the Boltons and the Dreadfort – much to the chagrin of Ser Harold and the absolute delight of Arya.

Second in line for the Eyrie or not, Arya didn’t like the Vale knight at all. He was no romantic secret suitor, just another arrogant, pompous prick. An absolute arse. Ser Harry the Arse… all but worthy of her sister. So, Arya made sure, Sansa stayed engaged in their conversation about the North throughout the entire picnic – rather than listening to the Arse’s boasting.

However, her mirth only lasted until their return to Red Keep, where the rumours had reached the Tower of the Hand in the meantime. Resulting in another tirade of Catelyn Tully, who fired once more questions at Arya. Until Sansa lastly intervened and assured, Arya would have told them the truth – that Gendry hadn’t and wouldn’t dishonour her.

Whereas, Eddard Stark was now indeed about to send both his daughters home on the kingsroad that very same day. But his wife naturally managed to get him to stick to his original plan; to solely send Arya north, aboard the ship setting sail in eight days’ time. Nevertheless, had the Warden of the North now enough of seeing his daughters libelled like common whores and took the matter hence to the king.

Yet, since Myrcella and Tommen had already done so, Arya didn’t expect a much different outcome from her father’s request. Arya knew, Unless the old drunk declared malicious gossip punishable by death, not even he could stop the rumours for good. The scandalmongers would only stop on their own, Eventually, when there was no child, no scandal. Forcing them to move on, to get a new, more interesting rumour to go around. It would certainly prove somewhat tricky for them, to come up with something better than a crown prince dishonouring and getting a Hand’s daughter with child, but Arya had no doubt the gossipmongers would manage. And sooner rather than later. When she was back at home and out of their sight, leaving them waiting in vain for news of a sudden wedding to a minor lordling, to conceal her alleged ruin. Therefore, Arya decided to ignore their rubbish, and to focus instead on making the absolute most of her remaining time with her southern friends.

Such as on the next day, when the royal siblings and Trystane took her and Sansa sailing. And to Arya’s utter relief had not Harold Hardyng, but Ser Podrick awaited them by the carriages in the courtyard. The westerlands knight of a lesser branch of House Payne was of age with Sansa, but a rather shy and quiet man… The polar opposite of the Arse. Arya liked him from the start and felt not once the need to sabotage his courtship of her sister. The young knight surprised both sisters with his knowledge of the North, of its great houses and history. And unlike Ser Harold, he got along greatly with the rest of their party. When they dropped anchor by the small isle, where Arya and Jeyne had gone swimming on their sailing trip with Renly and Loras, he didn’t seem to mind, once Myrcella suggested they should give Arya one last afternoon in the seas of Blackwater Bay. The Arse would have beyond a doubt ranted to leave Sansa’s side for half the day, but Ser Podrick merely warned her of the Bay’s treacherous currents and joined Tommen and Trystane on the other side of the island.

And so, after letting the princess then also in on the matter, Sansa declared him the likeliest candidate for her secret admirer, “Perhaps that way, it’s easier for him to express his feelings?” And Arya could hardly refute it, the quiet knight seemed indeed the most likely contender so far.
“I agree, it’s definitively someone unconfident, either about his person or his degree against yours, if not both… Otherwise he would’ve revealed himself by now.” Myrcella concurred.
Which unsurprisingly made Sansa bring up the idea of leaving him messages at the tree stump again, “Just one question at a time, simple ones that are answerable by ‘yes’ and ‘no’… Like, whether he’s from the westerlands or not. Do you think he might like that, or would he mayhap feel pressured then?”

“I worry more about someone seeing you plant that notes.” Arya warned anew, afore Myrcella provided the solution.
“Well, if Ned knows him, so do Trystane and my brothers…” the princess grinned mischievously, “And I’m fairly certain, I could get Ned to reveal the identity to one of them, once they vowed not to tell us. So, if you’d like, we could become your intermediaries until he feels ready to face you—”
“You’d do that for me? Oh, your grace, that’d be wonderful!” Sansa exclaimed, heads in the clouds already.
“Well, then let’s pray, Ser Mystery doesn’t turn out someone old and ugly.” Arya rolled her eyes, still convinced her way, of simply catching the man in the act, were the better and safer way.
But of course, Sansa dismissed the thought straightaway, “Nonsense! Ned said it’s a suitable match, remember?” and Myrcella agreed, assuring, Ned wouldn’t have called the man a suitable match, if he had any doubts that Sansa couldn’t like him.

Causing Arya to realise how much she missed Ned. Myrcella was wonderful and apart from Nymeria, her first and only female friend. But this afternoon had proven once again, personality-wise the princess had more in common with Sansa than with her. They were typical girls. And she was not. Unmistakably, Arya couldn’t understand her sister’s need to over-analyse her mysterious suitor. But Myrcella could; and had even seemed to enjoy it. Unlike her. She just didn’t get it. On one hand, Sansa had desperately wanted to know who her secret suitor was, but instead of choosing the easy way – just having someone follow him – her sister played along with his weird charade. It made no sense. Not to her. It was silly, so… girlish. She couldn’t relate to that. And Ned would understand.

So, she had decided to change her tactics and take a leaf out of Gendry’s book. For the remainder of her days in King’s Landing, she would invite Ned to join her on her activities with Sansa and Myrcella… and to suggest to go riding alone, just in case he didn’t want their friends to witness her clumsy attempts to get him to talk again. But he needed to know they were running out of time… lest he actually was interested in saving their friendship.

However, her plans to invite Ned to go riding in the morning, had gone up in smoke upon their return to the keep. Where her father had handed her a scroll of parchment. For a flash she had hoped, it were from Ned. But her father’s stern expression and her mother’s alarmed look had made clear, it wasn’t. Though, seeing the seal had even made Arya swallow. Fuck. Her gut instinct had instantly raised alarm, and she couldn’t help but shoot her father a worried glance, before she unrolled the message. Only to swallow loudly again. Seven hells!

Come morning, her mother had woken her way too early – so she could have a bath. They had argued for almost an hour if or if not Arya should reconsider wearing dresses; and both Sansa and their father had sided with Lady Catelyn on this. But Arya had known, she needed to prepare for battle. So, she had chosen her finest shirt and trousers, which had no holes and thus could be considered as good as new. But naturally, they still were somewhat ill-fitting, since Bran had been almost a head taller when she had stolen them before her departure from Winterfell. And of course, her family couldn’t talk her out of leaving Needle and her dagger behind, bringing Catelyn Tully even closer to hysteria. But anything else would send the wrong message.

So, Arya left the Hand’s Tower, her hand on Needle’s hilt, reciting her dancing master’s words in her mind. Calm as still water. Fierce as a wolverine. While courtiers and servants alike whispered behind her back as soon she came into view, their eyes following her through the keep, all the way to the small terrace near the royal quarters. Where two Kingsguard knights stopped her, “My lady, we can’t let you pass wearing those!” Of course. Arya shot the woman standing at the balustrade and facing Blackwater Bay a glance and smirked. She wasn’t afraid of Cersei Lannister, and she wanted her to know that. Thus, she announced loud enough, “Rest assured, the queen has nothing to fear from me. But if it makes her grace and you sers feel better, I’ll of course leave my blades in your good care!” She removed her sword-belt confidently, as if an audience with the queen was just something from her daily schedule and walked past the guards, clasping her hands behind her back. She was the She-wolf of Winterfell. She could take on a lioness. And surely needed no blade to kill one… if she wanted to.

“Your grace,” she greeted and curtsied, when Cersei Lannister turned around.
The queen displayed her usual self-satisfied aloof smile, “Lady Arya, I’m glad you could arrange to meet me at such short notice.”
“Of course, your grace, it’s an honour.” Arya retorted smiling, intent not to let her guard down. This was a test, if not a trap. And she wasn’t willing to fall for it.
“I imagine, my invitation came to no surprise for you… you probably expected it.” the queen smiled, though her tone gave away the real meaning. The lioness was about to bare her teeth. Careful now!
“My queen, I already told their graces, the Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, there is no need for you to bother yourselves with those rumours. They’re untrue and I’m sure they’ll abate as soon as I am gone.” Arya assured and apparently caught the queen by surprise.

“You’re leaving?” Cersei Lannister arched her brow, afore she narrowed her eyes. Showing her true colours now, she demanded, “Does my son know of that?” Causing Arya to realise, mentioning her departure hadn’t had the desired effect to appease the queen.
“Um, that depends on which of your sons you’re referring to, your grace. Prince Tom—” she evaded.
“I’m talking about the crown prince, Lady Arya!” the older woman hissed, “The one that you’ve been playing like a fiddle ever since you stepped foot into this keep.”
“I didn’t—” Arya attempted to object.
But the queen cut her off, “Don’t take me for witless!”
“No, your grace, of course not.” Arya countered, trying to stay calm, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t know, he’d—”
But the queen interrupted her again, scoffing, “You really think, you’re the first one, little dove?”
“The first of what?” Arya snapped and added outraged, “And beg your pardon, your grace, but I’m no little dove.”
“The first one to catch his eye, She-wolf.” the queen sneered. There we go!

“No, as to that I’m not the first.” Arya countered, regaining control over her temper, “And I won’t be the last…” About time to get used to it, lioness, she added in her mind. Before she continued, “Is that what you’re implying, your grace? That he’ll forget me? For another?”
“It’s only the truth, little wolf.” the queen put on her false smile again, faking compassion, “He’s my son and I love him with all my heart. But like all men, he’s weak… Eventually, he’ll give in to temptation, and sooner than you think. It’s in his blood, it’s not his fault. I know, you don’t want to believe that now, I understand. I was little older than you when I married Robert. He was all dashing and handsome back then, exactly as Gendry is now. I was so smitten, but it faded away rapidly. And it’ll be same for you…”
“Your grace, I fear there’s been a misunderstanding.” Arya retorted, assuring, “The sooner he forgets me, the better. It’s all I want.”

For a moment, Cersei Lannister studied her in silence at that. Before she suddenly hissed, “Who’re you trying to fool here, Lady Arya? Me, or yourself?” Huh?
“Your grace, I swear, I’ve no interest in marrying your son. Ever.” Arya assured again.
But the queen didn’t buy it, “I’ll leave you that, you’re good,” she scoffed. “I’ve been watching these little whores besieging him for nigh eight years now. But I always made sure, he saw through their charades in time. Especially, that Tyrell’s! And when your sister came to court, I was so damn proud of him. Not even the Great Beauty of the North could keep him under her spell for long… I suppose that was, when I let my guard down. I watched you too once you came here. But you avoided him like a plague, getting me to think, you didn’t want to get into your sister’s way. I should’ve seen it coming! I should’ve known, you’re smarter than your perfect sister and that Tyrell whore. I should’ve known, it’d be Lyanna reborn to steal my son—”

“I’m not Lyanna!” Arya burst out, anger boiling up inside of her, “And I’m not stealing anything from you, let alone your son, your grace.”
“Would you just stop!” the queen shouted, “You fooled me long enough, I admit it. But not anymore, I know about your secret trysts.”
“There were no trysts! I meant what I said at the tourney, I don’t want to be his queen. It’s just rumours and gossip, fuelled by Littlefinger’s lies…” Arya objected, starting to have trouble to recall her manners, “your grace.”
“Is it?” The queen snarled, “You want to tell me, you didn’t lie down there in those vaults with my son embraced in a kiss, only the other day?” That bloody kiss seemed to haunt her for the rest of her life.
“Exactly.” Arya blurted fuming.
“Then, my lady,” the queen smirked, pausing to enjoy whatever knowledge she had that Arya didn’t, before she went on, “you just called the future king a liar.” What?
Arya froze, before stammering in disbelief, “He… told you?”

“No, you just did.” Cersei Lannister announced triumphant. Seven hells! “You didn’t really think, the king and I’d sit back and watch our son and heir slandered because of you?” the queen no longer hid her hatred, “Did you seriously think, I wouldn’t look into it? That I wouldn’t protect my son… my firstborn?” For a moment, Arya was speechless and her mind blank.
Until she regained her wits and snorted furious, “Fine! There was a kiss, a single one.” Happy now? “But it doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything and it won’t happen again, I can promise you that. I’ll be gone, before he returns. Hence he can marry whoever else, someone of your choosing for all I care, your grace.” The queen studied her closely, yet remained silent. Probably to make Arya feel uncomfortable and blurt out more secrets. But it didn’t work. There were no more secrets left, at least none involving anyone of the royal family. So, Arya just returned the queen’s frigid stare, although hers was more a defiant glare. Until eventually she asked, “Can I leave now, your grace?”
“Yes, of course, Lady Arya,” Cersei Lannister smirked, both satisfied and dismissive, “I got what I wanted…” She turned back away from Arya, before she was even done with her curtsy.

Fuming, Arya snarled at Ser Meryn, “See, didn’t harm a hair on your mistress’s head.” She ripped her sword belt from his grip and stormed off. Fucking Lannister bitch. High time to leave this damn shithole… or else she’d reconsider harming hairs on certain heads.

But of course, first she had to face her parents and Sansa; who surprisingly had declined to go riding with the others. And had seemed worried, when Arya had stormed into the dining hall, “What a bitch!” Causing their mother to scold her foul mouth, before demanding to know what the audience had been about. Thus, Arya had given her family a quick outline, but again had left out the part about the kiss. She had known, she had to tell them eventually… Just not now. She hadn’t had the nerves for that, yet… She desperately needed to hit something. Someone. So, even though, their lady mother hadn’t been satisfied with what she had given away about the audience, their father had allowed her and Sansa to go riding with Harwin and Cayn; and let Arya spar with the two household guards on a riverbank at the Blackwater Rush. Calming her down enough, so she could give her sister a more detailed report.

Though unsurprisingly, Sansa had scolded her for lying to the queen and rolled her eyes over Arya losing her temper, but at least had admitted, Cersei was a master at provoking people. But unfortunately, her sister had confirmed her gut instinct. The queen was up to something. She wanted to get back at her. And unmistakably blamed her for everything – both, for the stain on Gendry’s otherwise snow-white reputation and for him looking like a fool at court now. But the two sisters hadn’t been able to figure out what exactly Cersei Lannister had in mind for Arya.

So, she had challenged Harwin and Cayn to spar with her a second time. This time both at once, to get the rest of her tension and rage out of her system and to exhaust Arya enough to allow her fall asleep easier that night.

The next morning a new scroll had arrived. Only this one had summoned her Lord father to an audience with the king. Great, the Lannister bitch undoubtedly spilled the beans to her husband. About the stupid kiss, and her unladylike behaviour during her audience. Knowing what was coming for her, Arya had spent the morning practicing in her room. Practicing to kill a bloody lioness. Her craven cub. A lying mockingbird. And a rose in viper’s clothing.

However, her father’s audience had taken much longer than hers. Eddard Stark had been with the king for nearly two hours and when he finally returned, he was fuming – even more than Arya had the previous day. In fact, he was more furious than she had ever seen him before. But instead of yelling at her, for having lied to him again, he ordered Sansa and Arya to spend the afternoon away from the keep and retreated to his solar. Alone. Leaving his wife and his daughters speechless. What happened?

So, Arya and Sansa spent their afternoon riding with Ser Podrick and Harwin. But since both sisters worried about their father’s unusual behaviour, it was a rather silent and awkward ride. They told the poor westerlands knight, it had nothing to do with him. But Arya could still see the doubt in the shy man’s face. He was afraid of Sansa losing interest. Nevertheless, both sisters were eventually so deep in thought, mirroring unwittingly each other in chewing their lower lips, that Harwin felt the need to intervene, “Girls, I’ve known your father all my life. I’ve seen him angry before, even that angry. He probably just had a disagreement with the king about something important. We all know, Robert’s infamous for his stubbornness. But eventually, they calm down and sort it out. You don’t need to worry!”
“But then why send us away from the keep?” Sansa asked. Yeah, that worried her the most, too. And Harwin had no answer to that.

But surprisingly Ser Podrick had. “Lord Stark obviously means to protect you.” he suggested, “Maybe something’s happening in the afternoon, that he doesn’t want you to see. Like an execution?”
“Could be.” Harwin agreed, evidently grateful for the young knight helping him out. But Arya’s instinct told her, No, that wasn’t it. Nonetheless, she clung to the idea. For a while. Until she realised, if it really were an execution, then her father’s anger could only mean, he disagreed with the king’s verdict. Meaning, the condemned most likely were innocent and undeserving of the sentence.

So, a part of Arya was glad, when they returned to the keep in the evening and didn’t hear anything about an execution. But the bigger part knew, her gut instinct had been right. Whatever happened, it had to do with her or Sansa. And her sister knew as well, the moment they heard their parents had already retreated to the Hand’s chamber. As they always did, when they discussed something concerning one of their children in private. Great. The queen had probably demanded her execution. Or banishment. Seven hells, what if that bitch wanted her to join the silent sisters, for making her precious son go rogue? That would actually explain her father’s rage… Goddamn Lannister bitch.

Arya had been outraged and once again had trouble finding sleep. But for a change Gendry hadn’t been the cause. Well, technically he was… as always. Though, this time it had been mainly his vicious mother. But eventually Arya had fallen asleep, after repeatedly vowing she would never become a Silent Sister!

Nonetheless, the real reason for Eddard Stark’s unfamiliar mood hadn’t been revealed until the day after. His unusual behaviour had continued, since he had missed out breakfast with his wife and daughters. Due to a Small Council meeting, Lady Catelyn had said. Claiming an urgent political matter would needed to be sorted right away. But once more Arya’s instinct had warned her, Her mother was lying. Thus, she had decided to confront her parents, as soon as her father would return from his ominous meeting. She was so done with being treated like a child. Constantly being left in the dark about everything that mattered…

But Lord Stark hadn’t returned. Not before she had left to go riding with Myrcella and Trystane, while Sansa had met with yet another suitor of hers, some Ser Raynald Westerling. However, by the time they returned to the keep, they noticed instantly something was amiss. Arya had gotten used to the looks the gossipmongers gave her since Gendry had left. But now literally everyone was staring at them. She exchanged a confused look with Myrcella and Trystane, who apparently had no idea what was going on, either. And then at the stables, Jory, Desmond and Cayn awaited them with stern faces. So, Harwin demanded alarmed, “What is it?”
But Jory only retorted, “I don’t think, we should be the one telling.” Seven hells.

Arya’s ears began buzzing. Something was wrong. Although, all her instincts told her to run, she couldn’t move. Badly wrong. But Harwin reacted swiftly and pulled her off her steed. Instructing their stable boys, “Lads, take care of the horses!” before he turned to Arya, “Let’s find your father and mother.” He and the other guards led her quickly to the Tower of the Hand.

Where both her parents and Sansa awaited her in her chamber – worry, compassion and even something like fear in their eyes. “I’m sorry, Arya.” her father stated. Causing Arya’s heart to stop for a flash, fearing someone had died. Jon? Robb? Bran? Rickon? Nymeria? Uncle Benjen? “I think it’s best you sit down.” her father suggested and approached her.
“No!” all her senses told her, she didn’t want to sit down for this.
“I need you to stay calm now. What we’re about to tell you, you won’t like…” Although relieved that apparently no one had died, she narrowed her eyes and moved her hand instinctively to Needle’s hilt. But her father grabbed her by the shoulders, “I’m telling you this first, for I fear, you won’t hear it, if I tell you afterwards. Arya, I promise, we’ll figure something out. This is not the end, not the final decision. I won’t allow it, I swear it, by the old gods and the new. Do you hear me, Arya?”
“What. Is. It?” she demanded, her body starting to tremble with fury, “What did that Lannister bitch do?” Her grip on Needle’s hilt tightened.

Sighing, her father nodded and gave in, “This morning, the king announced your betrothal to Gendry.”
“What?” she yelled, “Over my dead body!”
“Arya, please, listen! This isn’t final, betrothals can be broken. And we will break it, if that is what you want?”
“Yeah, sure…” Arya scoffed bitter and glared at her father, “Since breaking a betrothal to a Baratheon worked so well before. I know the story of Jenny and Duncan! And when I look at that ignorant fat drunkard, you call your friend, I’m beginning to think that perhaps Lyanna was better off with Rhaegar—”
“Arya!” her mother shouted outraged.
“What, mother?” she spat back, “Aren’t you happy? You finally got what you wanted, your daughter is about to marry the future king… Who cares what I want?”
“ARYA!” her father shook her.
But she only snarled, “It’s only the truth. Her ambitions and your inability to ever say ‘no’ to her and that lousy excuse for a king, are the reason for this whole mess. We could’ve all stayed in the North, where we belong… If only you had said ‘no’ to Robert and ‘no’ to her wanting to drag me and Sansa—”

“For fuck’s sake, Arya!” Sansa cursed, baffling her sister. “Could you, just for once, listen before you go off? This betrothal is the lesser of your problems now.”
“What do you mean?” Arya’s glance wandered from Sansa to her father and to her mother. Who both clearly struggled to spit the actual problem out.
So Sansa did it for them, “Cersei fears a betrothal isn’t quite enough to restore Gendry’s clean reputation…” No. No. No. Hells, no.

Arya felt as though someone pulled out the rug from under her feet. Only underneath there was nothing, but a bottomless abyss swallowing her whole. “Not even over my dead body!” Arya now fully lost it and wrenched free from her father’s grasp, “You said, I could go home, twice now…”
“And you will. We’ll figure something out, you just need to trust us!” her father approached her again.
And her mother added, “The wedding’s in two moon’s turns, we still have time.” Arya stared at her, Did she mean this as a comfort?
“Two moons?” Arya hissed, stepping further backwards to her door. “That’s nothing!”

“It’s enough time to talk Robert round.” Eddard Stark placated, “I know, he’s not easy to reason with, but that’s why I sent word to Gendry to come home—”
“You did what?” Arya felt panic taking over.
The while her father tried to grasp her by the shoulders once again, “Gendry’s a reasonable man. I’m sure, he’ll postpone the wedding.”
“Postpone?” Arya spat and armed her father’s hands away, “That’s not enough! I want it cancelled, the betrothal broken. Now, and for good.”
“Arya, one step at a time.” Sansa reasoned. But she was beyond reason now.

Again and again, she had listened to them and given in. And where had that gotten her? Each time things had got only worse and worse for her. Literally. No, she was done now. With the south. The capital. And all those damn liars here. For good and forever. “I’m leaving tonight— No, I’m leaving right now.” Arya snarled livid and dead-serious. “I’ll go to Jon… beyond the Wall. Out of reach for you. For Gendry. For the king and the queen, and everyone else.” she tore her chamber door open.

Only, her parents had expected just that, Arya came to realise, seeing Jory, Desmond and Cayn blocking her way out. No… She was about to draw Needle and fight her way through, when her father pulled her into his arms, “Arya, please, trust me! I’ll figure something out, and then you can go home, as promised. We just have to be diplomatic about it, Robert doesn’t react well to pressure and demands. And neither does the queen… which’s why we need Gendry here.” No! What she needed was to get away…

Arya no longer listened to her father’s attempts to reason with her. And for the first time in her life, his embrace failed to calm her down and comfort her. This was the end. Her end, if she didn’t find a way out…

Chapter Text

Finally being left alone, she stood at her window, still trembling with fury, and glared into the night. If it weren’t for the stars and full moon in the sky, some dim lit windows and the torches down in the yard, she would have stared into pitch blackness. Caught like a mouse in a trap. A damn five storey high trap of evenly built sandstone walls. As the wind freshened, coming from the north, angry tears ran down her cheeks. She could’ve fled moon’s turns ago! She could’ve just rode off on one of the rides, or snuck out through the passageway. She could’ve posed as a messenger and her stallion would’ve carried her halfway through the crownlands before anyone would’ve noticed. So, why in the gods names had she stayed… allowing him to trap her like that?

She slammed her fists down onto the sill, and only then she noticed the creaking coming from the left. No, from above her. The pulley! The hoist, the maids used for the water buckets. The increasing wind made its rope sway. That was it! She darted to her desk. A messenger needed a message. And grasped a parchment and scribbled down some nonsense about that the carrier of the message should be granted safe passage all the way from the capital to Winterfell, signing it with her father’s name and sealing it with her own sigil. The men at the gates would hardly know the difference, she told herself, before she paused. She should at least leave a note. With unsteady hands, she grabbed another parchment and bit her lower lip. What should she tell them? she wondered, before she realised, They wouldn’t understand, no matter what it said. Thus, she took a deep breath and wrote, “I cannot stay. I am sorry. For everything. But I love you all, and I hope one day you can forgive me. I am sorry.”

Leaving the short note on her desk for her family to find, she tiptoed to her trunks, to not let Tom and Alyn outside her door know what she was up to, and packed a bundle. Spare clothes, a warm cloak, a little box with her small treasures and some coins. Just in case. Before she quietly put on her padded jack, the chainmail and her sword belt with Needle and the dagger. Afterwards, she slipped through the loop of her bundle and put on Theon’s old cloak. Fully dressed, she hurried back to the window, to the hoist and pulled the rope towards her, as quiet as she could. Then, she leant out of the window, to check if someone in the storeys above or below, or in the yard had noticed. Nothing happened. Thank the gods. She exhaled, pulled up her hood and stretched her fingers, before she grabbed the rope again and got onto the sill. Wrapping her legs around the rope, she started climbing down. Five storeys. Four storeys. Three storeys. Her fingers were raw and slippery from sweat. But she forced herself to tighten to go on. Two storeys. One storey. She could jump. No. She climbed all the way down and didn’t let go until her toes reached the gravelled ground. For a moment she kept still, observing her surroundings. Listening, if there was anyone else in the yard, except the two Stark guards around the corner. But there wasn’t.

So, Arya quickly snuck along the wall to the other side of the yard, to the doorframe Gendry had leant against after their first race, and slipped through. From there she headed straight to the stables. Only to find all three of their stable boys in her steed’s bay. Two keeping watch and one fast asleep. Fuck. This was her mother’s doing, undoubtedly. She needed her mount! He was her only chance to get enough distance between her and any pursuers. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She was about to panic, close to run without her stallion. No. She just needed help… and a bit of luck.

She swiftly tiptoed away from the stables again, passing the forge and the kitchens, climbing in and out of windows, and into the mid-level gardens, where she pulled her hood deep into her face and walked the rest of the way as nonchalantly as she could. Like a real messenger would. Calm as still water. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she prepared herself and approached the two guards. Making her voice sound as deep and confident as she could, she proclaimed she would have a message for their lord and allowed them a quick glance at the scroll of parchment, yet not long enough to identify the sigil as hers. “It’s urgent and I’m instructed to hand it to his lordship himself and no one else!” she claimed and it worked. One of the men entered the door and returned with a manservant a few instants later. He led her inside and made her wait in the solar, while he disappeared through another door, only to return a moment later, lighting some candles on the desk and putting some logs onto the dying embers in the hearth.

Although, it only could have been a moment, it had felt like an eternity until the door, the servant had disappeared through, opened again and Ned stepped out; bare-footed and his hair messy, in trousers, but his shirt only sloppily laced. “What is it?” he asked sleepily, studying her hooded figure, and furrowed his brow. So, she pulled her cloak back, just enough for him to see Needle and showed him her message. Bewildered, he ordered his servant rather gruffly to leave them, before he turned to her, demanding, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this… but there’s no one else—” she tried to explain herself.
“You’re leaving?” it dawned on him.
“They’re watching my steed,” she pleaded, “I need him.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, his brows knit, but Arya knew his mind was racing. “Your father’s men?” he asked eventually.
“No, the stable boys. All three.”
Yet, his expression hadn’t lightened until he suddenly blurted, “I’ve got an idea!” he offered her a seat and a cup of wine, to ease her nerves. “I’ve to prepare a few things, I’m right back.” he said and was about to leave, but she grasped his hand worried. “I’ll explain later.” he promised, squeezing her hand and left through the door she had entered.

He returned mere moments later, nonetheless Arya had gulped down the wine by then, and would have refilled her cup, if she hadn’t feared becoming tipsy. Ned sat down at his desk, grabbing parchment and quill and started writing. “What are you doing?” Arya questioned disquietly.
“Trust me!” he murmured absently.
“I do, like no one else here.” she proclaimed and meant it.
“We’ll get you out, before midnight. I promise.” he smiled at her and went back to his task. Drafting and sealing three messages, before he retreated to his chamber to get dressed, leaving Arya alone with her thoughts and fears again. What if a maid was to check on her right now? What if Littlefinger’s or the queen’s spies had seen her climb the rope? What if Gendry returned by ship, thinking he could talk her round? They could run right into him. She had to leave. Now! Pacing back and forth in the room, she was close to panic again, when Ned finally returned to the solar; dressed in chainmail and a black cloak, armed with sword and dirk and his bow.
“Let’s go,” he grabbed the messages from his desk.

Their hoods pulled deep into their faces, they had hurried to the stables. Where two packed horses, Ned’s squire and three Dayne men had awaited them. Together they had overpowered the poor stable boys quickly, gagging and tying them up in her steed’s bay. And while the squire had stood watch at the stable door, Arya and Ned had readied her mount for the journey. But of course she couldn’t be lucky just for once. They had barely begun strapping her supplies to the saddle, when the squire came running, saying a man would approach the stables. Damn.

Hoping it were just some random manservant or knight, Arya, Ned and his squire hid in her stallion’s bay; pointing their swords at the stable boys. Whereas Ned’s men pretended to pack their horses. But of course, it wasn’t just some random man. It was Harwin, who instantly realised something was amiss, even before he saw Arya’s steed all saddled up. He stopped in his track, right out of reach for Ned to surprise him. And the three Dayne men blocking his way out then, gave it away to Harwin for good. However, instead of raising the alarm or fighting them, the Stark guard called, “Arya, it’s only me!”
“I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.” she hissed from her hideout in the bay.
“I won’t stop you.” her father’s guard replied calmly.
At which Ned stepped out into the aisle and threatened, “That’s right, you’ll be tied up with the lads over here.” and his men closed in from behind.
“There’s no need for that, my lord, I’m coming with you.”
“And why’d you do that?” Arya stepped next to Ned, studying Harwin warily.
“As I see it, I’ve not much of choice here. Your father would have my head, if I let you leave alone.”
Arya narrowed her eyes thereat, “Is this a trick? Are more guards coming?”
“No, just me, to take over for the lads. So, no one will notice we’re gone, not before dawn.”

And just like that their plan had changed. Instead of two Dornish knights leaving alongside Ned’s squire, two remained at the Red Keep now. Ned had left two of his messages with them and handed the other to the third knight. The while Harwin put on a Dayne cloak and mounted Arya’s steed, who undoubtedly was glad to have no stranger ride him — even if it was only for the short distance to Hot Pie and Lommy’s tavern, where Arya and the squire were meant to switch places. “Take your time. We need at least half an hour to get there, if not more.” Ned instructed the riders, “And remember, no hoods up until you’re past the gates, you’ve nothing to hide and we don’t want to raise anyone’s suspicion.” And so three Dayne riders headed for the gates, in no hurry at all, while two hooded figures hurried to the kitchen yard as fast as they could, and disappeared through the door leading to the vaults.

“I’ve to admit, I haven’t used the tunnels for quite some time.” Ned whispered as they rushed through the vaults, “But we’ll get you out, one way or another.”
“I know the way,” Arya admitted sheepishly. Though, she wasn’t sure he had heard her, so she grabbed his arm to halt him, “Ned?” Yet, the hurt look on his face made her let go instantly. “I’m sorry—” she tried to apologise, but he interrupted her.
“I know you are!” he snapped, “I read your message… no need to tell me again how you kissed him.” It caused her jaw to drop. He had never spoken to her like that before. Or anyone else in her presence.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered abashed, “I shouldn’t have said that… I don’t know what came over me—no, that’s not true, I know… Arya, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, I’m the one who needs to be sorry… I never meant to hurt you,” she appeased.
“I know.” he sighed, “But I’m just a friend and he’s… more. And you can’t help me dealing with that, just like I can’t help you dealing with leaving him. But I’m glad you sent me that note, and that the truth isn’t—well, as bad as my imagination, or those nasty rumours. So, let’s just put an end to all that… and just try being friends again, okay?”
“Yes, gladly, thank you.” she agreed, feeling as if a weight lifted from her shoulders.
“All right, we better get going.” Ned suggested and they hurried to the vault with the dragon skulls and the door leading down to the tunnels.

They run wherever they could dare in the vaults and tunnels, and together they navigated their way easily to the cave in Flea Bottom. There, Arya placed her hand on her sword’s hilt. Just like Ned did, who unwittingly mirrored Gendry’s action from that night, that now felt ages ago. He took her hand, telling her as well, it were safer this way, and they hurried through Flea Bottom. He leading the way, outright carving a way through the crowds outside the brothels and winesinks. However, they didn’t dare to run in the less crowded alleys, to not draw attention to them. Still, they made it in good time to the tavern, in less than an hour.

Entering the taproom with their hoods up, Ned led her straight to the counter, where Lommy and Hot Pie already awaited them. Though, unlike last time, the innkeeps approached them quietly, leading them up the stairs all serious, and into the room where the three riders already waited. Only there inside, Lommy pulled Ned into a hug, removing his hood and ruffling his hair amused, “There’s my pretty one!” and teased, “So, we’re in the shady business now after all, huh?”
“Just this once,” Ned retorted abashed, before Hot Pie hugged him as well.
“What’s all the secrecy about?” the round innkeep questioned curiously.
“We’ve to get her out of the city, quick and quiet,” Ned said, nodding towards Arya, who removed her hood now too.
“Ah, the even prettier one!” Lommy turned to her, teasing, “So, you chose the Dornishman, after all?”
“No,” she blurted defensively, “I’m going home!”
“Ah, don’t worry, little lady. This handsome Dornish bastard here will get you there safe and sound, in no time,” Hot Pie assured. Wait! Oh my gods…
She stared at Ned wide-eyed, “You don’t mean—no, Ned! You’re not coming with me!”

“I’m not having you travel the kingsroad all alone!” Ned proclaimed determined.
But Arya objected, “No, they already compare you to Rhaegar, you can’t come…”
“I don’t care!” Ned retorted livid, “I’m not here to just wave you goodbye and let you travel half the Seven Kingdoms on your own.”
“I’m not alone, Harwin’s with me,” Arya countered and the Stark man stepped forth.
“My lord, I know the northwards kingsroad better than anyone in this room, and I’ve kept Arya safe all her life. I’ll get her home safely, I swear, my lord.”
“Oh, well, then she’s not alone…” Hot Pie tried to appease the heated situation.
But Ned objected, “One man can’t keep her safe against a bunch of bandits, I’m coming too.”

“You’re just one more man.” Arya rolled her eyes, “And I’m not allowing you to ruin yourself for me.”
And Harwin agreed, “My lord, right now you only aided a reluctant bride in her escape, that’s what honour commands of you as a knight. But if you come with us, you stole her! And the last time a nobleman stole another one’s bride—”
“Gendry’s won’t start a war because of this, he’s no damn fool,” Ned scoffed.
“This isn’t about him,” Arya countered angrily. “If you come with me, your reputation’s ruined. You will be compared to Rhaegar for the rest of your life. And I won’t have that! So, you’re not coming, end of story.”
“My lord, I’ll go in your stead,” the Dornish knight offered, before Ned could object again.
And Arya agreed quickly, “Settled! Three swords against brigands, and three Dayne riders leave the city, as many as rode out of the keep. So, only the stable boys can tell you were involved.”
At that, Ned drooped his shoulders in defeat and sighed, “All right, Vorian, you’ll ride with them.”

Hot Pie and Lommy had left the room after that, to quickly pack Arya and her small escort some pies and bread as extra supplies, while Ned made both Harwin and Ser Vorian vow to guard her with their lives, under all circumstances. It was ridiculous. Harwin had sworn to do just that, when he had become a Stark guard, and Vorian was a knight, honour commanded him to protect a woman from brigands and murderers. But it was also nice, to see how much Ned still cared about her. Then, his squire handed him his cloak and she had barely removed her own, when Ned placed it around her shoulders. Making her realise, she was running from Gendry cloaking her in Baratheon colours, cloaked in Dayne colours. The gods truly had an odd sense of humour.

Before eventually everyone but the squire went to the stables, were Hot Pie and Lommy already waited with their extra supplies. Harwin strapped them to their saddles, while Arya hugged Lommy, thanking him for his help and telling him, she would miss his jokes in the North, before she hugged Hot Pie, thanking him as well, and mostly for his delicious pies, stating his talent in the kitchen would have no equal, neither here in the south nor in the North.

And last she flung her arms around Ned, hugging him fiercely, “Thank you. For being my friend, even now, when you loathe me.”
He pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her feet off the ground, “I could never loathe you, and you know that,” he whispered, “I just hope I won’t miss you for the rest of my life, that’s all…”
“I hope so, too.” she whispered, her voice now breaking, “Since I know I will do just that… till my last breath.”
“Gods, Arya, I love you,” he breathed into her ear, petrifying her for a moment.
“I’m sor—” she attempted to apologise.
But he stopped her, “Don’t! I just wanted to say it out loud, just once. Just once saying it to you… you know, to get it off my chest, if that makes any sense to you?”
“It does, it think.” she assured promptly, “And I want you to know, as a friend, my best friend even, I love you, too… and always will.” She pulled slightly away to face him, and for a moment she just studied him, confusing him, given the deepening frown on face.

So, she swiftly bent forward and placed a quick kiss on his lips, stunning him. “What was that for?” he blushed.
“For being a true friend, of course, and my favourite hero since tonight.” she proclaimed.
“Damn, you’re right, I am a hero…” he teased, “saving a maiden from the most gruesome monsters. Albeit I’m not sure about that bull-headed stag, but I guess all those vicious lions, vipers and vultures should count.”
“They all count, the groping drunkard and the stupid bull, too.” she snorted and hugged him again.

When they finally let go of each other, Arya was about to mount her steed, but then turned around again, “Who’s Sansa’s secret suitor?”
“I’m afraid, I’m sworn to secrecy there,” Ned chuckled.
“I won’t tell her! I just need to know it’s someone good and worthy of her. She’s already swooning over him…” Arya pleaded.
“He’s a good man, brave and honourable, kind and smart. And his sense of humour isn’t too bad, either.” Ned assured, “Of course, compared to Gendry it’s a bit of a step down for her social-wise. But in my opinion, he’s a more than worthy suitor.”
“But is he young and handsome? Sansa always wanted someone young and handsome, I’m afraid if he isn’t—” Arya worried.
And Ned appeased once more, “I’d say he is. But then again, as a man I’m mayhap not the best of judge there… I heard Myrcella call him handsome a while ago though, I think quite a few ladies of the court are smitten with him.”
“But why the secret courting then?” Arya frowned.
“Why not? It’s romantic, and Sansa loves it.” Ned proclaimed, “You don’t need to worry about her, she’s smart. And I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise. And so will Gendry, Myrcella, Trystane and Renly and even Tommen.”
“Thank you, Ned.” she hugged him once again, yet briefer now.

“So, will this fair maiden allow a very heroic knight to help her onto her steed now?” Ned teased.
“Only her favourite heroic knight, and just this once,” she snorted and let him lift her up into her saddle.
“You didn’t drop dead from it, wow…” Ned went on.
“Shut up, stupid!” Arya snapped, but let him lead her stallion out of the stable into the backyard.
Though, before he handed Arya her reins, Ned squeezed her hand once more, “Goodbye, Arya. And send me a raven when you got home, to let me know you’re safe and well,” he whispered, his voice throaty.
And hers wasn’t any better when she replied, “I will. I Promise. Goodbye, Ned.”
“Now, off you go! Before I change my mind and keep you here,” Ned jested and smacked her stallion behind the saddle, to make him trot off the yard, to follow Harwin and Vorian on their steeds.

At that, Arya could no longer hold back her tears. And Harwin noticed her snivelling, as soon as her steed closed up to his and Vorian’s. “We’ll be home in no time, lass,” the Stark guard tried to comfort.
“I know that!” she almost snapped, “I just wish I could’ve said goodbye more than only Ned and those innkeeps…” She wiped her tears off her face then, and proclaimed, “The moon shines bright enough tonight, we should get quite some distance between us and this shithole here, don’t you think?”
“Depends on our new friend’s riding skills,” Harwin retorted, studying the Dayne man.
“I may be twice your age, my lady, but I’m a Dornishman. That means, I’m not too old for a hard ride, unless I’m dead,” Ser Vorian claimed.
“We’ll see about that, when the little lady darts off with lightning speed, Ser.” Harwin teased snorting.

Once they neared the Old Gate, Ser Vorian told them both to fall behind and let him do the talking to the guards there. For a moment, Arya felt nauseous, fearing the City Watchmen would already await them, and snatch her off her steed and drag her back to the keep. But nothing the like happened. The Dornish knight just told the guardsmen they were on an urgent mission for their lord, not even giving them the name Dayne, and they just nodded and opened the gate, letting them pass through.

“That was easier than I thought,” Arya remarked, when she rode up to her older companions again. “They’re there to keep the wrong folks out, my lady.” Ser Vorian told her, “So, unless they’ve a warrant for someone, they couldn’t care less who leaves the city, especially this late. And apparently, tonight no one went missing.” Just a runaway bride. But obviously her absence hadn’t been noticed, yet.

They headed northwest at a smart trot, until they were almost out of sight for the men on the city walls. Then Arya rode up a nearby hill and removed her hood, to take one last glance at the capital. It looked so beautiful and peaceful from a distance, with all the warmly lit windows in stark contrast against the dark blueish landscape around. Almost innocent. She took a deep breath, and thought of all those she left behind now, some of them even forever. Father. Mother. Sansa. Ned. Gendry. Balerion. Myrcella. Tommen. Trystane. Renly. Loras. Edric. Brienne. Hot Pie. Lommy. Jeyne. Vayon. Jory. Alyn. Desmond. Fat Tom. Wyl. Heward. Cayn and all the others. Goodbye. And she thought of those, who had forced her to run like a thief in the dead of night. The ones she was glad and relieved to finally leave behind. Good riddance and goodbye forever, my fucking king and queen! And Littlefinger. Joffrey. Margaery, and all the other vipers, vultures and gossipmongers.

“Shall we?” Harwin asked next to her, when she finally turned her stallion northwards. But instead of an answer, she pressed her heels into her mount’s sides to have him dash off, and her two companions followed behind, both roaring with laughter. A race. Gendry’s voice whispered in her mind. And the stakes couldn’t be any higher. Her life. Her freedom. And her heart.

After riding all night, only stopping twice to water their mounts, they set up camp on a grassy clearing at dawn. And at noon they had saddled up again and travelled the rest of the day at a smart trot, before they made camp at nightfall on some woodland edge with a nearby stream. The sky was overcast by then, so Arya had begrudgingly agreed to spend the entire night there. Before they continued their journey at dawn, spending another day all on horseback, apart from occasional short pauses.

The following three days were pretty much the same, only at the end of the fifth day they reached the inn at the crossroads. And decided to restock their dwindling supplies and stay the night. And why not? Even a fool could guess she headed north, and knew the fastest way to get there on horseback was the kingsroad. So, why prolong the journey by going off-road? Arya had argued with herself. But the main reason, she had agreed to stay at the inn, was its bathhouse. She had longed for a hot bath. Of course, she had had opportunities to wash, they always camped near streams, springs and wells. And unlike her, Ned’s men had even thought of packing two pieces of soap. But the stream beds hadn’t been deep enough or their currents not fast enough for her to properly wash her long hair in their cold waters. So, that evening at the inn, she actually enjoyed the hot tub — like never a bath before.

Though, when she left the bathhouse then again, she found Ser Vorian standing guard outside instead of Harwin, and the knight’s face immediately gave away something was amiss. “What is it?” she asked alarmed.
Yet he had only said, “You better see for yourself, my lady. In the taproom.” No… that was impossible! He couldn’t catch up with her so quickly, could he? Clenching her fists, she stormed around the corner and barged into the tavern, ready to knock him out.

Only to find Harwin with about twenty heavily armed men inside, who instantly bowed to her once they saw her and Ser Vorian in the doorway. Huh? Arya stared perplexed at the scene, before her questioning glance turned to Harwin. “My lady, this’s Ser Raymun Darry.” he introduced the man next to him, who stepped forth now.
“Lady Arya, Lord Tully tasked us to escort you—”
“I’m not going back there!” she snapped outraged, baffling the knight and his men. “You said you’d take me home!” she glared accusing at Harwin.
“Arya, they’re here to escort you north.” her father’s man appeased. Huh? She blinked confused. “It seems, your lady mother sent word to your uncle in Riverrun, to find us.” Harwin clarified, but she only narrowed her eyes at him more. Why’d her mother do that? It made no sense. This had to be some trick.
“I don’t believe you,” Arya had growled warily.

And Ser Raymun vowed it were the truth, and offered them to stay the night at Castle Darry, which were only an hour’s ride away. But Arya declined, she still suspected a trap. Just another keep with a tower to lock her up in, until whoever would come to drag her south again. No. The only castle gates she’d ever see closing behind her again, were those of Winterfell or Castle Black. And although, Harwin pleaded with her to accept the men’s aid, Arya insisted to sleep in the stables, with their horses saddled up. Just in case. She wouldn’t close an eye that night, she vowed herself, too afraid, Ser Raymun and his men would grab her and take her south again.

Come dawn then, Arya gulped down half a jug of water, grabbed an apple and a piece of bread from the plate the innkeeper had prepared for her, and mounted her steed wordlessly to dash off the yard. Harwin and Ser Vorian hurried to follow her, but Ser Raymun and his men weren’t as quick. Only four of them managed halfway to keep up with the three of them. While the rest of the Darry band only caught up then when they stopped to rest at noon. Arya thought to go off the road now after all, to get rid of Ser Raymun and his men. And Harwin, too. He was her father’s man, not hers. Before she then realised, if the Darrys had word to find her, other houses got ravens too… damn.

So, Arya spent another night ignoring her body’s exhaustion, which had both Harwin and Ser Vorian shake their heads over her stubbornness. She wouldn’t give anyone a chance to overwhelm her. But of course, two nights with no sleep lastly took its toll, and she fell asleep on horseback the next day. When Harwin pulled her off her saddle then, she woke only briefly up, far too tired to actually stop him. And she was sound asleep again, as soon as he had placed her onto her furs, and covered her with a woollen blanket.

Once she opened her eyes again, the sun was rising. Seven hells! She had slept half a day and all the night. But even though she had wasted precious time, she realised now, she was still in the riverlands, heading north. That naturally didn’t make her trust Ser Raymun, but at least she accepted having him and his men around then. And albeit she tried to not slumber so deep anymore — in case it was all just a ruse in the end after all — she couldn’t deny, she and her original companions benefited from getting more sleep at night.

They were meant to reach the Twins five days later, from where, according to Ser Raymun, a Frey party then would take over and escort Arya to the Neck. Only someone had different plans. The twin castles had barely come into their view, when a grey figure racing over the hills with lightning speed scared the Darry men nigh to death. Not Arya and her steed though, they darted off themselves, to meet her partway. Flinging her arms around the thick grey neck of her giant wolf mere moments later, Arya sobbed and laughed all at once. But Nymeria was no better, one moment she whimpered like a pup, licking Arya’s face overjoyed, only to snarl and challenge her playfully in the next.

And there on the grassy hills along the Green Fork’s shores, they fooled around as if they both were little again, undoubtedly baffling the men of her escort once more. But she couldn’t care less. Though, when Nymeria had pinned her down then, nearly burying her whole with her massive stature, of a sudden another wolf, bigger and darker in appearance, jumped at Nymeria from the side. He rolled her off of her, to play-wrestle with him instead. And only then, Arya noticed the quickly approaching riding party. Stark men. About thirty men, led by Robb! Arya was lifted up in her brother’s arms as soon as she was back up onto her feet. “There you are!” he laughed, “You had us all worried sick, you little minx…”

Finally reunited with him, after almost losing hope to ever see him again, tears welled up inevitably. Arya clung to her oldest sibling like a drowning man would to a lifeline. But it was tears of utter relief and joy for a change. Still, Robb teased her immediately, “Whoa? Since when are you such a cry baby?”
“Shut up!” she growled at once, punching his shoulder, and wiped at her cheeks.
“There, that’s my wild little sister.” He pulled away somewhat to look her in the eyes, “Damn, girl, you’re insane, you know that?”
“I’m not the one who lost her mind… it’s all them southerners gone mad.” she snapped angrily.
“Evidently. You a queen? Even your wolf were better at that job,” Robb snorted laughing. “What was that fellow thinking?”
“Not much, obviously,” Arya growled, nestling against her brother’s neck once more. She didn’t want to think about Gendry, now or ever again. Just forget him, that was all she wanted.

“Robb, may I stay with you at Winterfell?” she whispered thereat.
“Course!” he chuckled.
“No, I mean, forever?” she stated dead serious, “I don’t want to be sent away again, you know, to marry… I’d rather go and live alone beyond the Wall.”
“There’s no need for that, I’m keeping my wildling sister now,” Robb reassured, tightening his embrace, “I thought their plan was nuts in the first place, and could’ve told them this’d happen—well, not the part where that princeling mistook you for Sansa, but this here, Father and Mother had it coming…” He set her feet back onto the ground, so Grey Wind could finally greet her as well, promising her, “You and I, we’re going home now, where we belong.”

Chapter Text

He had arrived at Storm’s End four days after his hasty departure from the capital. He had felt sorry for his two squires, his only companions on the trip, they really hadn’t deserved the hard ride through the stormlands, but he hadn’t been able to slow down. He needed to get away from her. To get her out of his mind, just for a while. He knew, he had made a fool of himself because of her. Still did. That last tournament day and every sennight since, he had never felt this asinine and exposed in his entire life. Which was saying something, given how and where he had been brought up. It was outright embarrassing. But what choice did he have? He would have lost her for good, if he hadn’t done it. And he’d do it again, regardless that she hated him for it. Because it was worth it… well, in parts.

He had commenced to fear, she might never forgive him. But then, wholly out of the blue, she had stood outside the forge, and mere hours later they had even kissed. The kiss had made him doubt his own sanity. For a moment he had been certain, it were all but a dream, afore her knee then had proven, it was not. How could the least ladylike woman at court also be the most complicated one? One moment she loathed him and sought to murder him, and the next she kissed him, only to knee him right after. It made no sense. Not to him, she made no sense to him. No wonder everyone at court thought he lost his wits. It was true! She drove him mad. And he couldn’t go on like this, he had needed a pause. Moreover since the one person, whose advice and solace he would have needed the most on this, barely spoke a word with him now. Also because of her!

Hence he had hoped, away from the schemers, scandalmongers and lickspittles, Storm’s End, would provide him the peace and quiet to clear his mind; like it had done so often before. But of course, his hope had been in vain. He had barely greeted his younger half-sibling, when Edric had told him, two ravens had arrived from Myrcella and Tommen, which was enough to tell him something was amiss. The first small parchment had warned him that he and Arya had been seen together in the city. Shit. And the second had told him about the rumours that went around at court about them both since. Fuck! He should have never left her there…

His instincts had urged him to sail right back to King’s Landing. But Edric had talked him out of it. His siblings and the Starks could well handle this without him for another sennight, he had argued, after all he had already requested her hand in marriage. That should provide her enough protection until their return, Renly had agreed upon his arrival two days later. And a part of Gendry wanted to believe it too, he had neglected his base-born brother for far too long. Also because of her. For nigh half a year he hadn’t visited him, just out of fear Ned or whoever else might win her heart and hand in his absence. So, he had remained with them at Storm’s End, against his better judgement, then. He had merely sent a raven back to his mother, to warn her to not even think of ridding herself of Arya, unless she would wish for him to marry Margaery after all, just out of spite towards her. He should have listened to his guts though, should have known, Cersei Lannister would find a way to get back at him nonetheless.

Mere two days later two more ravens had come. One formally addressed to the Lord of Storm’s End, reading, “I, Robert I. Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do announce hereby the betrothal of my firstborn son and heir, Gendry Baratheon, to the Lady Arya of House Stark. Their wedding shall take place at full moon after next. RB” Seven hells… Gendry had been so perplexed thereat, he had slumped down onto a chair, all colour draining from his face. They had to be jesting? What madness made them think he’d do this? And what in all seven hells made Ned Stark agree to it? He hadn’t touched Arya. Not in a way that would justify this… And only then it had dawned on him, He did this! With his raven to his mother. In his helpless fury at this realisation, Gendry had smashed the very same chair he had slumped down onto, “That fucking bitch of a mother!” Arya would never talk to him again. Ever. For this, she might actually gut him…

He would have certainly destroyed even more furniture, if Renly and Edric hadn’t stopped him, reading the second raven scroll to him, which had revealed, the Starks were as happy about this arrangement as he was. Eddard Stark’s message had beseeched him to return to King’s Landing posthaste, to reason with the king — for Arya’s sake. Hearing that, had made him pause for a moment, How would he ever get her to accept him after this? Before it had struck him then, She wouldn’t sit around and wait for him save her from this… fuck! Fuck. Fuck…

Gendry had stormed from the room thereupon, ordering Penrose, to ready their fastest vessel to take him back to King’s Landing or to White Harbour, if necessary. And not knowing how else to vent his fuming anger afterwards, he had barged into the Round Hall and had ripped his father’s warhammer from the wall there. That fucking useless shit… he ought have caved his head in with his own hammer years ago! Gendry had been about to smash his father’s old armour from the war right there on its pedestal and melt it down, alongside his beloved hammer. But his brother and uncle stopped him once more, with Edric offering to spar with him to blow off some steam. Only his younger sibling had come to regret the offer soon. Gendry couldn’t recall feeling this livid before in his life, and had tired Edric quicker than they both had expected. So, Brienne and Loras had stepped in and had fought him together, which helped… somewhat.

However, after seeing him in such state, neither of them had thought it wise to let him travel back to King’s Landing on his own. Both his kin, as well as Loras and Brienne had accompanied him on the passage. And Gendry had been grateful that they had, although couldn’t really show it. The three days at sea had turned him into a helpless raging mess — he belike would have torn the whole vessel apart, if they hadn’t been there to distract him.

Notwithstanding, upon their arrival in the capital, he had come off the ship and had been on his way in the tunnels, before his companions had even disembarked the longboat at the harbour. He barged fuming into the king’s private parlour in Maegor’s Holdfast, where his kindreds just had assembled to break their fast. “Did you two really think I’d play along with this? That I’d drag her to the great sept and force myself on her? I’d rather strangle the both of you right here—” Gendry snarled at his father and mother.
“Hate to break it to you, Brother, but you couldn’t even force yourself on her, even if you’d learnt to stomach a woman’s tears by now.” Joffrey scoffed sardonically, “Your sweet bride is gone… your Dornish pet stole her—”
His sibling was drowned out by the king though, “How dare you speak to me like this, boy?” Robert Baratheon pushed his chair forcefully back from the table, to get up to stare his firstborn down. “I’m a little more than your begetter. Lest peradventure you forgot, I’m still your king—”
“Only until you’re no more.” Gendry shot back, causing his father to step closer.
“You ungrateful little bugger, I could have arrested you for high treason for this!” the king bellowed, reeking of wine as usual.
“Go ahead, be my guest…” Gendry dared him, stepping closer himself.
“You think I wouldn’t do it?” his sire snarled.
“And let him have the throne?” Gendry nodded unimpressed at Joffrey, without averting his glare from his sire. “No? Well, then I suggest you call the wedding off this once, Father!”

“And what would be the point in that?” his mother butted in now. “We all know, you’ll chase right after her, as soon as you’re done with this… ridiculous charade of yours here. We merely did you a favour. She was leaving anyway, told me so herself.” What? His mother didn’t even wait for him to reply, “Lord Stark got her a passage. She would have left this very morning. Didn’t she tell you on your little tryst the other day?” Joffrey fully enjoyed the shock on Gendry’s face, when his eyes sought Myrcella’s.
“I’m sorry!” his sister burst out abashed. “We wanted to tell you—would have… after Edric’s nameday. You couldn’t have stopped her…” This now left him truly speechless.
“See, we did you a favour,” their mother continued unapologetic. “They shan’t dare to wed her off to some witless northerner now. She is yours, as you wanted. All you need to do is get her back here… and I’m certain your shrewd mind shall come up with something to achieve it.” Gendry stormed wordless from the room thereupon, unwilling to listen to his mother’s twisted logic any longer.
“Best of luck, Brother—” he heard Joffrey’s smug sneering.
And his father snarling, “You shut your damn mouth! I’d sooner exclude you from succession than him—”

Gendry had gone straight to find Ned then. That twit’s remark had to mean something. And indeed his friend admitted his involvement in Arya’s escape right away. The Dornishmen told him what had transpired in his absence, and how they had pulled it off. It even made Gendry chuckle, to hear she had climbed down the pulley on her flight. That woman was unbelievable… And his visit to Ned’s solar made him realise, She would have despised him beyond repair, if she had stayed. Notwithstanding, Ned dampened his hope quickly, “I know you love her, and as much as it irks me, I’m certain she requites it. So, at the risk of sounding like a mere envious prick now, I think it’s time we both let her go…” No! If she truly loved him, how could he even consider to let her go? Letting her walk away…

He went to the Tower of the Hand afterwards, to face Eddard Stark. In hope, he could appease her father by his assurances, that he considered the betrothal null and void, if that was what Arya wished, and that there would be no wedding until the day she herself would say otherwise. And naturally, Gendry apologised for meeting her unchaperoned, wondering though what exactly she might have disclosed to her kin. Everything? Or just about the last day? Their kiss? Oh gods, hopefully not. Hence he chose his wording as vague as possible and merely vowed he hadn’t dishonoured her, rather than claiming he hadn’t touched her. Heck, it was but holding her hand and a sole stolen kiss, brief and innocent. But his instincts told him, Ned Stark wouldn’t view it as such, not when it came to his own daughter.

And he was right. Eddard Stark’s face remained sterner than Gendry had ever seen it before, the northerner’s eyes were unable able to hide his fury. Fortunately though, Catelyn Tully was there too; for she Gendry could appease at least somewhat, after he had assured he still wished to court Arya, and within the appropriate bounds henceforth. But Lord Stark wasn’t as indulgent as his lady wife. He thanked Gendry for calling off the wedding and his offer to break the betrothal. Nonetheless, the proud northerner made it abundantly clear, after all that had transpired, he needed time to review whether he should allow Gendry to actually court Arya further; thus he would let him know when he would came to a decision. Fuck! So much for setting sails before nightfall… Gendry knew he couldn’t venture north on his own without risking to turn Ned Stark fully against him, and saw himself hence forced to remain in King’s Landing. Stuck, for who knows how long… Yet, not in the Red Keep.

With his parents fucking his life up once again, and not knowing where Arya was and if she was all right, Gendry decided, He wouldn’t stay another moment longer there. He took up quarters with Edric and Brienne at the tavern therefore, where he didn’t need to see any of the scheming fuckers and scandalmongers of the court, or else he would have murdered some of them.

However, even in the city and at the tavern folks gossiped and speculated about Arya’s disappearance by then: The Hand’s daughter eloped with her secret lover, who climbed up to her tower window to free her. Fiddle-faddle, it was pirates that abducted her. Or the king himself belike, after all she is said to look exactly like his lost love. Bollocks, Rhaegar was still alive and took her. Aye, he was seen in some winesink the day before. No, you fools, his son did it — Lord Dayne didn’t look like a Targaeryen for no reason. Horseshite, the poor thing was murdered by the Tyrells. No, by the queen. Because she was with child, a bastard. Aye, and the queen made her join the Silent Sisters to hide her son’s shame. No, she jumped from her window to end her misery quite like Ashara Dayne. It was ridiculous…

But most of all, it didn’t allow Gendry to calm down. He eventually even avoided the tavern’s taproom, but his mood only worsened as the days went by. He constantly felt ready to lash out, even at his friends. And the only way to prevent it, was burning off his energy – dawn to nightfall. Every day. He went riding, to race his stallions around in the woods and on the fields outside King’s Landing, or he sparred with Edric and Brienne. Yet, most of his time he spent at Mott’s shop, working furiously on Arya’s armour, melting its parts down over and over again… It needed to be perfect. And in spite of his bad mood, Tobho Mott told him, “Keep it up, lad, let it be your masterpiece.” He was right, Gendry realised stunned for a moment. It would be his masterpiece. Had to be! So, he worked even harder on it.

Only Edric’s nameday had meant a brief relief, or so Gendry tried to convince himself. His base-born brother even jested, he ought to thank him; for now, that they were inevitably stuck in King’s Landing, Myrie and Tom could attend his nameday feast too for the very first time. Their younger siblings snuck out of the keep that night, together with Renly, Loras, Trystane, Ned and some other young knights and stormlanders. And although their feast at the tavern was a much smaller affair than it should have been at Storm’s End – and sadly without Shireen – Edric seemed to enjoy it. And Gendry tried to do so as well, but all the ale and wine of the tavern couldn’t keep his mind from mulling over her. It inevitably led to him sitting in the dark booth beneath the staircase leading up the tavern’s bedrooms, to gulp down more ale and wine on his own there. “You look like shit,” Ned slumped down across from him eventually, his speech slurring by then.
“Thanks, precisely how I feel… but who am I telling?” Gendry growled, slurring no less.
“Well, seeing you like this sort of alleviates things for me,” Ned mocked teasing.
“My pleasure, Dayne.” They spent the rest of the night drinking together in quiet, in their dark booth beneath the wooden stairs. All because of her!

And Gendry’s mood remained this bad, until sennight after his return, Ned came to see him at the shop. The Dornishman had had a raven from the Twins, from her, he told Gendry. She was safe, thank the gods! Her wolf and her eldest brother had found her there, and would escort her home now with thirty men. However, hearing so had Gendry dash straight to the Tower of the Hand, to beseech her father to let him visit her at Winterfell. But Lord Stark refused him again. He would not take a decision ere Arya and Robb were safe at home, which would take them leastwise another ten days, the Warden of the North claimed. Seven hells! He would be on his last legs by then…

Nine days thereafter, Vorian and Harwin returned from the Twins and Ned sent his vassal to see him at the tavern, to report of his journey with Arya. Yet, quite like his master before, the Dornish knight hinted at Gendry that she might not want him to go after her. But how could he just let her slip away like this? No, he had to see her. And if she wished for him to give up on her, she would need to tell him to his face.

And he had truly waited long enough now for Lord Stark to make up his mind, Gendry decided come morning and had Edric ready their vessel for the departure, the while he snuck back into the keep to get his things in order there beforehand. He had a message delivered to the Hand’s Tower, which informed Lord Stark that he would mean no disrespect, but since it were now ten days since the raven from the Twins had arrived, he would journey north now to speak to Arya in person. Before he sought out Ned to persuade his friend to join him on his undertaking. But the Dornishman unsurprisingly refused, “I shan’t help you get her back. I just can’t, I’m sorry.” Albeit Gendry had expected this outcome, a part of him had still hoped his friend would go north with him. Not only because he knew — unlike him — the young lord somehow always managed to get her to talk. But rather because of Ned’s calm and reasonable nature, who had kept his own impulsiveness in reins so many years now. Fuck.

Left thus with only his half-brother and Brienne to aid him to appease Arya, Gendry sought out Renly, who thankfully needn’t much persuasion to join them on their northern venture. Before he packed the few things he needed, and the gifts he wanted her to have, and returned to the vaults, where Balerion waited on the jaw of his namesake. The animal hissed angrily at him, now that both him and Arya had neglected him for so long. “Sorry, little dread, I need to leave you once again. To get her back to us, if that’s even possible…” Gendry pleaded with him, when it suddenly dawned on him, she loved the feisty tom. “Or would you haply come with me on my little adventure?” he baited Balerion with a piece of chicken. “You certainly look like you could need a good old ship rat diet, old fellow.” And so after a short delay, until he had finally placated the tomcat, Gendry continued his way out through the tunnels, with Balerion on his arm.

Though, it appeared his mother had heard of his departure by then too, seeing as Jaime and Barristan awaited him aboard with ten Lannister guards. He was a grown man, when would she ever accept that? Gendry snorted angrily. “Sorry, lad, you know how she is… either we shall come along or you shan’t leave,” his uncle told him, nodding at the two war galleys guarding the harbour. He had Renly, Loras, Edric, Brienne and twenty Baratheon men. The northerners would hardly seek to harm him for courting Arya. Only Gendry had no time to fight this out now with his mother, he had to leave. And Cersei Lannister knew it, hence it was Jaime and Barristan, and not Ser Meryn and Ser Mandon. Because she knew her son wouldn’t actually mind to have his uncle and old teacher escorting him. Damn scheming witch of a mother, Gendry huffed and vowed to himself, This was truly the last time she intermeddled in his affairs. Just so their vessel could finally depart to White Harbour.

But the three sennights aboard had taken its toll on him then again. Gendry had felt restless and constantly on edge, even though he had sparred with his companions several times a day and had aided the sailors with their daily tasks. He hadn’t even minded scrubbing deck, and had spent hours up in the crow’s nest, staring at the sea and wondering, How in the gods name could he persuade Arya to accept him and to eventually return to King’s Landing with him? But the nights had been the worst. He had felt utterly exhausted every night, and had yet spent hours tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, whilst his mind revolved around her. Eventually, he had even hoped they would encounter some pirates, just so he could hit someone for real. But no sea-robbers had crossed their path. On the contrary, it had seemed the gods wanted to test his patience. For their entire trip the wind had been a gentle breeze, and twice they had been stuck in a calm; the first time for four days, and the second time for two days. Seven bloody hells!

When they then lastly had passed the Three Sisters, entering the mouth of the White Knife, Gendry got his hopes up again. But of course he found them dampened soon after. Lord Wyman Manderly received him at White Harbour, and declared how overjoyed their great city were to welcome him, the future king; and that they had a feast prepared in his honour. Fuck. Gendry fumed internally, but put on a straight face and accepted Lord Manderly’s invitation smilingly. And what a feast the man hosted! The tables were excessively filled with all kind of foods and beverage – both from Westeros and Essos. And either Lord Manderly mistook him for his sire, or he truly sought to fatten Gendry until he was as round as the northern lord himself. He made Gendry taste each and every bit and beverage in his hall, whilst his granddaughters besieged him and Edric all night, Worse even than Margaery!

Consequently, Gendry didn’t wake the next day till late in the afternoon, and when he lastly did, he felt sick and ready to throw up any moment. His head throbbed so bad with pain, Gendry couldn’t help wondering if the Ladies Manderly had mayhap dropped some sort of potion into his goblet. And all of a sudden, he felt more than grateful his mother had insisted he took the two kingsguard knights along. Or else who knew what — or who else — Gendry would have woken up to in his chamber at New Castle, if Jaime and Barristan hadn’t guarded his door there. Not that he would have touched another woman, he would never do that to Arya… But after what his parents had done, Gendry wouldn’t have been surprised, if Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully had decided to play dirty too. And Wyman Manderly certainly was the right man for such a scheme.

“Good morning, sunshine. Didn’t think I’d get to see you today…” his uncle’s teased amused, when Gendry trudged from his chamber then, to task the man to get someone to prepare him a bath. But the hot water didn’t really allay his discomfort, and so Gendry had to realise, none of them would be leaving White Harbour before the morrow. Fucking hells. And at least his queasy state allowed him to excuse himself from joining Lord Manderly and his cunning granddaughters for supper that night. Notwithstanding, Gendry didn’t touch any of the food and beverage that was brought to his chamber then, except for the water, and suggested his companions that felt coincidentally rather similar to do the same. Those mermen wouldn’t delay him another day.

Come dawn the next day, Gendry woke to his stomach growling and went to find the kitchens and get some food there, before anyone could get a chance to meddle with it. Afterwards he woke his companions, commanding them to ready themselves and get the horses Lord Manderly had promised to provide them. Hopefully they weren’t all lame old nags. However the steeds weren’t the problem. Each of them were fine and strong mounts, perfect for long hard ride. The issue was rather that Lord Manderly decided in the very last moment he and his granddaughters should escort him to Winterfell. In a fucking wheelhouse that was nigh as large as his mother’s. They had to be jesting! Gendry was certain now, he wasn’t paranoid. Those bloody northerners actually were fucking with him…

Instead of a mere sennight, it took them over a fortnight to reach Winterfell. And by then Gendry wouldn’t have even been surprised, if the Wall and not the ancestral seat of the Starks had appeared behind the next mountain ridge. Lord Manderly tried literally everything in his power to delay their journey. The wheels of his damn wheelhouse came loose so regularly, Gendry didn’t think it beyond the fat lord to loosen them himself every night. And if the damn thing for once didn’t lose a wheel, its spokes broke or even its axles, or it got stuck on the muddy road.

At the end of the first sennight, Gendry was close to setting the whole thing afire by night. He merely refrained from abandoning the Manderlys pig rude on the road, because he didn’t want the northerners to know, their cheap little tricks actually worked on him. If it hadn’t been for Arya, he would have certainly felt tempted to fully turn tail by the fifth day. Mostly because he couldn’t really spar with his companions anymore, since he didn’t want to give it away to Lord Manderly how on edge he truly was by then. And even if he tried to blow off some steam, Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla kept besieging him whenever they got hold of him. He could’ve just as well brought Margaery and her entire entourage north.

However, someone was even unhappier than him about this turn for the worse of their journey. Aboard ship, had actually enjoyed their adventure. The confident tom had curiously inspected the vessel, and had been outright delighted to meet the crew’s molly. He had presented Gendry very rodent he had caught, and had nestled contently into his cot after his meals. But since they had left White Harbour, where Gendry had to put him into the wooden cage the ship’s carpenter had built for him, the tom left out no chance to let him know how much he loathed him now.

Only his attempts to appease the tom in his wooden box, proved then to the northerners then for good that Gendry and everyone else in the south must have lost their minds. And he could merely agree: taking the tom all the way from King’s Landing didn’t only made him look nuts. It was! A cat was no dog… Of course his pleading with Balerion made him look like a fool, belike even to his companions. But thankfully none of them ever said a thing. Still, even Gendry could no longer deny it, his mother was right, he was losing the respect of the people because of Arya. And how could he hold it against them? They saw him negotiating with a fucking cat! Gendry longed for Ned’s company and counsel like never before. The Dornishman wouldn’t have silently stood there, letting him plead with a bloody cat in broad daylight.

Although on the eleventh night, Gendry came to realise, bringing Balerion along was the best idea he could have had. Of a sudden, the tomcat started hissing and growling in his cage in the dead of the night then, waking both Gendry and Edric. Something was wrong! They grabbed both their sword belts and dashed from their tent at once, asking Barristan if he had heard or seen anything. Yet, albeit the old knight negated so, Gendry’s instinct told him to trust Balerion. The old grump wouldn’t raise alarm over a weasel or a fox. He commanded Edric to wake ten of their men and search the woods to their west, the direction Balerion growled and hissed towards. In vain though, the men found nothing there, no sign of anyone hiding there.

And so, only in the morning, when Gendry had to take a piss and decided to do it there in the woods, he found proof that neither he nor Balerion were about to lose their wits: Paw prints of a wolf. A lone wolf. Gendry was a good enough hunter to determine that much. A direwolf, given the prints’ size.

But more so, they woke to Balerion’s growling on all nights since. So, even though Gendry stopped dragging their men from their tents after the second occurrence, he always went to check in the mornings. And each time he found one single pair of prints stalking the woods by their camp, yet only ever near his men’s tents. Nymeria. Gendry was certain of it, even afore he found her prints again on the third morning. And where Nymeria was, Arya couldn’t be far, he was even more certain of that.

He never found even a single boot print small enough to be hers though, notwithstanding Gendry knew, she was out there! That knowledge alone calmed him down more than anything he had tried since he had left Storm’s End. Regardless the nonsense Lord Wyman threw at him to delay their journey from then on – be it too thick fog, or the fat lord coming down with a fever for a day – Gendry no longer cared. She was out there. Watching him, and knowing it fuelled his hope like nothing before. She wouldn’t do something like this, if she no longer cared about him. Mayhap she didn’t want to face him, leastwise not yet… but she still cared! That was all that mattered to him.

So, by the time they lastly arrived at Winterfell, Gendry felt tense, but was no longer about to go off like a jar of old wildfire. After Lord Wyman’s sly attempts to delay him, he was prepared to be received in a similar fashion at the ancestral castle of House Stark. And indeed, Robb Stark seemed determined to make it as hard for him as possible. He greeted Gendry and his southern retinue and the Manderlys in the courtyard by the South Gate as their degree demanded, but the young wolf made no efforts to conceal whom of them he truly considered welcome at his hearth. Little more than a year older and almost as tall and broad-shouldered as Gendry, Robb Stark had clearly settled into his roles as acting lord of Winterfell and acting Warden of the North.

He stood tall and proud and greeted poised, “It’s been a while since kings and princes visited the North. You honour us, Prince Gendry, that you go to this extraordinary lengths to travel all the way up here. It’s thusly my pleasure to declare that Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.” the northerner told him. But Gendry didn’t miss his cold undertone, how Robb Stark’s smile never even came near his eyes when he addressed him, or how swiftly the young lord went on to introduce his younger brothers; Brandon – Bran – nigh as tall as him, who mirror his demeanour. Only the youth still lacked his older brother’s confidence. And Rickon, the youngest Stark, who scowled at him with such bold defiance, Gendry couldn’t help but chuckle. Unmistakably her kin. Even though all three brothers took after their mother in looks, there was no doubt, that glare was all Arya. Though naturally the young northerner got his amusement all wrong, “Are you laughing at me?” the boy demanded outraged, reminding Gendry only more of her.
“I’d never dare so, my lord. You merely remind me a lot of your sister, is all.” Gendry explained himself, however that seemed to confuse the youngling only more, as he apparently didn’t grasp it was a compliment.

But his brother left Gendry no chance to explain himself and swiftly introduced him to Theon Greyjoy, Lord Medger and his son Cley Cerwyn, Benfred and Eddara Tallhart and their cousins Brandon and Beren, Gawen Glover, Alys Karstark, Meera and Jojen Reed and the three Mormont sisters, Lyra, Jorelle and Lyanna, who all claimed to have come to pay their respect in their families’ names. Sure, Gendry wanted to snort, but pulled himself together. He knew damn well, why Robb Stark had invited these young nobles – all of similar age. Even if some of the noblemen actually were meant to court Arya, Gendry was neither browbeaten nor impressed. She had run from him, but never into either of their arms. She loved him, and only him. As long as that was true, he wouldn’t step aside for anyone. Regardless how hard she sought to make it for him, seeing as she had no intentions to greet him herself. So, Gendry introduced his travel companions calmly in return, as though her absence wouldn’t pose an open slight to his station at all.

Before Robb Stark then announced, the Manderlys would take up their quarters in the Great Keep like the rest of the northern nobility, so Gendry and his companions would have the Guest House across the yard at their free disposal. How convenient? “I assume after your unexpected troubles on the road, both you and the Manderlys and your retinues long for hot baths and some rest ahead of our feast tonight, your grace” the young wolf went on, and escorted Gendry straight to the king’s chambers at the Guest House. Another feast, of course…

Nonetheless, Gendry was relieved to actually get some rest for a couple of hours, out of sight from those damn northern pricks. Even though in Balerion’s eyes naturally he was the idiot prick now. The tomcat was far from grateful, when Gendry lastly allowed him out of his cage. And although Gendry rooms were the largest and no doubt the most extravagant ones in the Guest House, the feisty cat kept hissing at him whenever he glanced into his direction. The chicken breast that Gendry had offered him on a tin plate on the parlour floor, Balerion gobbled down notwithstanding. “It’s not my fault, it took us so long to get here, you know…” Gendry growled, staring at the canopy over his bed; unable to find sleep before he needed to dress for the next useless feast.

He was determined to play along with the northerners’ stupid distraction games, to prove them all and Arya at the same, he was far from giving up. Nevertheless, he made sure he and his retinue were the last ones to arrive at the Great Hall. Just so his hosts had to wonder and fear, if he haply had taken offence how they had treated him. And somehow he hoped, albeit against his better judgement, she would show up too then, or would cross his path somewhere on the way. Even if it was merely out of spite… to taunt him. Only she didn’t. Not before the feast in the yard, nor in the Great Hall, nor afterwards. She had her father’s hall full of suitors, and yet there was neither hide nor hair of her there. What a surprise? The while Gendry found himself in the very same place as at court, forced to dance with every fucking lady in the castle, except the one he actually wouldn’t mind. And both the Mormont sisters, as well as Wynafryd and Wylla took entirely advantage of the situation, seeing as he didn’t dare to refuse a dance on his very first night in Winterfell. Who’d thought having Margaery and her cousins at court turned out actually a good thing? It had been the perfect preparation for this night. For regardless how hard the northerners tried, Gendry kept a straight face and never once let his guard down, tiring his dancing partners before they could exhaust him.

Though, when Gendry eventually saw his host retiring to his seat at the high table, he followed swiftly behind. He took his seat to his right and turned to the northerner, “My lord, may I ask where your sister is tonight?”
“Unfortunately not here, Your Grace. But I suggest we address the matter in private in the morrow.” Robb Stark riposted somewhat frigidly, ere he turned to face him to challenge, “Unless of course, you wish to discuss it right now?” You wish!
“No, my lord, tomorrow is just fine, as I doubt Lady Arya would like us do it here in front of everyone.”
“Very well, Your Grace, tomorrow it is then. Let’s say here after breakfast?” Robb Stark suggested him and retired to his chamber soon after.

And Gendry followed his example only moments later, leaving his friends and their men behind, who evidently still enjoyed the festivities. Back at his chambers, he slumped down onto his bed, hardly able to shove his boots off, and closed his eyes to let sleep overcome him. Only then he noticed the cool breeze coming from the window. Wait,… Gendry had kept it closed because of… Balerion! He dashed to the window facing the gigantic ancient godswood, with the three steaming ponds right beneath the Guest House windows – they were fed by hot springs, Arya had once told him. But Gendry merely stared at the old oak tree, whose branches were as thick as tree trunks themselves, of which one reached nigh all the way to his window. That damn little minx… “I’d wager you didn’t hiss at her, you damn traitor!” Gendry shouted into the night, yet smiled all over his face.

Come morning, Gendry headed to the Great Hall to finally request to speak with Arya; and against his uncle’s and Barristan’s advice, he went there in alone, to prove he wasn’t afraid of a pack of wolves. Before then mere instants later he had to realise that wasn’t entirely true. At the high table sat young Lord Stark, as regal as a man could be, flanked by his brothers on one side and an old maester and Theon Greyjoy on the other. However, the seated row of five wasn’t what had Gendry’s heart skip a beat, but the four fully grown direwolves to their feet. The two larger grey ones, Robb and Bran’s most likely, bared their teeth at him. Whilst Shaggydog, the only one Gendry could identify for sure, snarled at him as if he sought to jump at his throat any moment now. The green-eyed wolf only calmed down, when the smaller grey one, belike Sansa’s Lady, gave him a soft head-butt. This was no audience, it was a trial… in every meaning of the word, Gendry realised. And still there was no sign of Arya. Of course…

“Thank you, my lords, for receiving me so early after the wonderful feast last night.” Gendry stepped as calmly as he could muster towards the dais, reminding himself, They wouldn’t be so stupid to allow those beasts to harm a hair on his head.
“You requested to see us, Your Grace. How may we be of assistance to you?” Lord Stark began sporting once again a slightly frigid undertone and an obviously false smile.
“My request is actually rather simple, Lord Stark,” Gendry riposted, “I would very much like to speak with your sister.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Robb Stark proclaimed coolly.
“And why is that, my lords?” Gendry demanded, trying not to sound outraged.
“Well, Your Grace, the course of history has made us wary of southerners, and the more recent history even more so when it comes to southern princes and the daughters of our house.” the acting Lord of Winterfell watched him closely as he spoke, undoubtedly waiting for their guest to lose his temper. You bugger wish!
“My lords, I’m not Rhaegar,” Gendry told them, now truly outraged. He didn’t want them to know though.
“That’s good to hear,” Robb Stark riposted smug. “But the thing is, we don’t know you, Your Grace. What kind of man you are… so I hope you understand I had to take certain precautions ahead your arrival.” Yeah, those stuck out a mile.

“I fully understand, my lord.” Gendry countered, pretending to be calm. “But I really need to speak with the Lady Arya in person, to clear up some misunderstandings of the past fortnights—”
“Misunderstandings?” Robb Stark hissed outraged. “You thought you could force her into marriage, Your Grace…”
“I did no such thing, my lords.” Gendry countered equally outraged, but quickly regained his composure, “Aye, I asked for her hand, but I also told your lord father that I didn’t seek a betrothal ere your sister agreed to it. Hence I learnt of our betrothal and the announced wedding the same way as you all did, from a formal message sent to the lord of Storm’s End. I assured your father and mother upon my return to King’s Landing, as I assure you now, there shan’t be a wedding nor a betrothal, until your sister says so. And I shall gladly assure such formally in writing—”
“You’d provide us a written assurance?” Robb Stark glared at him in disbelief.
“Indeed, my lords, you and the Lady Arya,” Gendry proclaimed. “Though, I have one condition—”
“I’m sure you have, Your Grace,” Robb Stark scoffed unsurprised.
But Gendry ignored him and went on, “You and your father assure me in return, you shan’t betroth or wed her to anyone else.” Before he realised, She’d probably wouldn’t that as well. So he added swifly, “Unless of course, your sister wished it so—to marry someone else.” Only that suggestion earned him even warier looks from the high table.

“So, you don’t want to marry Arya?” Rickon questioned clearly confused.
“Yes, I do, my lord. But not right away. I don’t mind if we wait a couple of years, if that were what she wants.”
“And that’s why you’re here, Your Grace? Just to tell her that?” Bran Stark inquired doubtful.
“Pretty much, my lords.”
“Could’ve sent a raven, then.” Theon Greyjoy mocked sniggering, before he recalled who stood before them, “…um, Your Grace.”
“Not really, I’m still waiting for her reply to my last letter to her,” Gendry shot back, before he got serious again, “And I think a matter such as this is better settled eye to eye.”

“Well, as I said before, that’s unfortunately not possible in this case, Your Grace.” Robb Stark proclaimed, “Our sister isn’t here.” Did they actually expect him to buy that hogwash? After last night?
And the youngest of the pack even snarled, “You can’t take her away from us! She’s beyond your reach now, princeli—” Before he got elbowed by his older brother, so he swiftly corrected himself, “Your Grace…” Bloody hells, did they truly want him to believe, she was with the Night’s Watch? She really was fucking with him. High time to turn the tables.
“My lords, I truly don’t mean to offend you,” Gendry cleared his throat, trying not to display a smug grin himself now. “But how come your sister climbed through my window during the feast last night and stole my tomcat? Quite a thing to do for someone currently roaming beyond the Wall.” Caught you!

For a flash, all five faces at the high table looked at a loss. They didn’t know… “Your Grace, no offence either, but your imagination seems a bit… exuberant.” Robb Stark countered, no longer concealing his anger. “I assure you, the Lady Arya is not at Winterfell.” Bollocks! As if she wasn’t somewhere around here, enjoying her brothers attempt to roast him. Probably even from behind that damn rear door.
“If I’d to guess, Your Grace, I’d say your cat climbed rather carelessly out of the window on its own, and came across the fangs of one of those…” Theon Greyjoy mocked now openly, nodding at the direwolves; of which the silver one yawned just then as if sated.
Though, when Gendry only nodded in annoyance thereupon, Robb Stark added, “But I shall naturally instruct my men to aid you with the retrieval of your pet, Your Grace.”
“Never mind, my lord,” Gendry huffed angrily. “If your sister wants him so badly, she may keep him. He seems to like her better anyway.”

“Your Grace, little word of advice, I know the game you’re playing. It won’t work though, not on Arya.” the young wolf hissed, “She’s made her decision, and I think it’s pretty clear she isn’t interested in your courtship.”
“I beg to differ, my lord,” Gendry shot back.
“As is your right, Your Grace,” Robb Stark riposted angrily, “But it shan’t change anything. She isn’t here and that should be your answer.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but I’d prefer to be certain of that before I depart,” Gendry countered boldly, “Only if it’s not too much a trouble for you, of course…”
“Not at all, your grace.” Robb Stark replied, evidently trying not to lose his temper, “You and your men are welcome to stay in the Guest House as long as you please.”
“Thank you, my lord. That’s generous of you,”
But of course Robb Stark wasn’t done yet, “It’s a waste of time though, Your Grace. The sooner you accept that, the better.” Doubt it.
“I suppose that’s a chance I’ve to take then,” Gendry snorted, fuming internally no less than his host.
“Fine, Your Grace, as you wish. Is there anything else we may help you with?” the northerner growled.

“Actually, yes, my lords,” Gendry blurted at that. “Since apparently I’ll be staying for a while, I’d like to seize the opportunity to get to know some of the North. Your people, I mean. And not only the highborn delegates you so foresightedly invited, Lord Stark. I’d like to meet with some smallfolk, too.”
“Feel free to join me tonight for a special tour to the winter town, Your Grace,” Theon grinned mischievously. “I shall introduce you to our most willing smallfolks—”
“My thanks, my lord, I’m sure some of my men would gladly join you. Though, I for one have to decline,” Gendry retorted politely, baffling the young Ironborn.
Before his eyes quickly narrowed, “Are our northern whores not fancy enough for His Grace?”
“I don’t mind any wench’s origin, nor their place of work. But I shan’t consort with them nonetheless, my lord.” Gendry countered calmly and perplexed Theon Greyjoy for good.
“I thought you were Robert’s son?” he blurted blatantly.
“Precisely that, but that doesn’t meant you ought to confuse me for him, my lords,” Gendry growled, noticing how closely the Stark brothers studied him now. Did they think him that stupid? That he’d take even a step towards a brothel’s threshold, just so they could report back to Ned Stark how unsuitable he was for Arya? 

“But I’d really like to meet some smallfolks in the streets and here at the keep, if you’d allow it, Lord Stark?”
“Sure, Your Grace, why shouldn’t you chat with them? I’ve nothing to hide…” Robb Stark told him unimpressed. Yes, you do! Your damn sister.
“Excellent! Then I should like to start with your master blacksmith, my lord.” Gendry proclaimed, “I’d like to ask a favour of him… against an adequate payment, of course. I just want to make sure, I’m not overstepping any boundaries here, Lord Stark.”
“Our craftsmen are a free men, Your Grace. Mikken alone will decide, whether he takes your commission or not.” Robb Stark snorted in a slightly dismissive undertone, “And you’re the future king, you don’t need my permission, you may roam these lands as you please.” As long as I stay away from your younger sister, right?

And Gendry understood the northerner. He knew from his own experience, how uncomfortable it was to realise one’s sister was no little girl anymore; how furious he got when younglings and even grown men gazed at her, or even dared to smile at her. Though, all that had been nothing compared to the shock, when he had caught Myrcella smiling back at Trystane then. So, yes, Gendry understood exactly how Robb Stark felt about him. But given the circumstances he found the northern lordling could actually count himself lucky. At least, in his case it wasn’t one of his closest friends. Still, Gendry knew, there was nothing he could do or say to make Robb Stark accept him quicker. Trystane had tried to talk him round and it had only made things worse, until the day Myrcella had threatened him to tell their mother about the next woman Gendry liked. And the gods had been indeed cruel. Scarcely a fortnight later Arya had stepped around that damn corner in the vault, providing his cunning sister the ultimate weapon against him. It had made him stop snarling at Trystane almost instantly. Gendry still hated it, and he avoided any thoughts about his sister and the Dornishman and what it all implied as good as he could… However, much to his own surprise, he had survived it so far. And so would Robb Stark… well, should he win Arya.

Yet, in order to achieve that, Gendry knew, first and foremost he had to lure her out… from wherever she was hiding. And he needed to be patient, regardless how hard that seemed right now. Curiosity might kill the cat, but it had led the little she-wolf more than once out of the safety of her den… it might work again, considering her actions these past days.

So, after his audience with the acting lord of Winterfell, Gendry went straight to the castle smithy, to finally meet her dear old friend; and Master Mikken turned unsurprisingly turned out a tough nut to crack himself. After hearing his request, to rent one of his forges for the time of his stay, the master blacksmith looked quite offended, “Your Grace, I assure you my men and I can produce anything you need.” He obviously feared Gendry had travelled with his own smith.
“I know you can, Master Mikken. I’ve seen your work, the Lady Arya’s Needle is flawless.” Gendry placated swiftly.
“But if that is the case, then why wouldn’t you trust me with your own commission, Your Grace?” the old blacksmith growled only halfway appeased. “Well, good master, as it happens I’d like to do some smithing myself. That’s why I’d like to rent one of your forges.” Gendry explained, “It helps me clear my head, if you must know. And I certainly could need it right now.” Only the master blacksmith looked at him thereat, as if he had lost his mind.
“Your Grace is a smith himself?” the old man stammered doubtfully.
“Journeyman armourer, to be precise, trained with Master Mott in King’s Landing—”
“The Qohorik who makes the kingsguard’s suit of armours?” the old smith questioned, still not convinced.
“The very one,” Gendry assured. “I’m aware this is an unusual request, and I understand you can’t allow obscure strangers tampering with your forges, Master Mikken. But if you’d allow me, I’ll show you I’m no one obscure in a smithy.”

However, the old man only caved in after Gendry assured him, this were all in agreement with Lord Stark. And Gendry spent the following few hours producing anything the sceptical northern smith requested of him: starting with a nail, then a bodkin-point, which had him chuckle, and a simple bootmaker’s knife afterwards. At first all the men in the forge watched him disbelieving, but upon seeing him shape that nail with a few quick blows then, Gendry fully enjoyed their dropping jaws. They had thought him a spoiled boasting brat. However, after seeing him hammer the bootmaker’s blade, Master Mikken was the first one to turn away and leave him to his further tasks: repairing pots and broken shears, pokers and hinges. Before sometime in the afternoon, the old smith growled, “You may rent that forge, Your Grace.” And Gendry could have sworn he had perceived a slightly approving undertone. There we go…

But only when he started to unpack his two chests of fresh steel plates and bars, and his favourite tools, as well as Arya’s halfway finished armour pieces, the old master’s eyes widened somewhat, “You made these?” And Gendry could only nod, knowing by now the Winterfell smith wasn’t easily impressed. “That’s fine work, Your Grace.” Mikken approved, before he lastly even remarked, “She’ll like it.” A better compliment the old smith couldn’t have made him, and Gendry had needed to hear so from someone who knew her all her life. This suit of armour was his best and haply only chance to win her…

As he came to realise in the following days and sennights. Gendry remained at Winterfell for nearly a moon’s turn, without even once catching a glimpse of her. He had hoped she would eventually seek him out at the smithy, even if it were solely to tell him to fuck off. But nothing, absolutely nothing transpired. There was no sign of Arya, except that Balerion suddenly showed up again, six days after he had disappeared. The old tom walked into Mikken’s forge, as though he owned the place. He gave Gendry’s calves each a head-butt and rolled up into a knot atop the trunk for Arya’s armour. “So, now we’re friends again?” Gendry snorted somewhat disgruntled, “How about you show me first where you’ve been hiding this whole time?” With her, undoubtedly. But the tom only briefly lifted his head, staring him down, as if he wanted to ask, “Jealous?” And he was! Of a damn old cat, who vanished and reappeared in the days afterwards as he pleased, leaving Gendry never once a clue where in this goddamn gigantic keep he went.

And Theon Greyjoy naturally teased him at once, seeing Balerion follow him to his quarters one night, “Seems like Shaggydog spit him out again after all…” What a joker you are?

During all his time at Winterfell, Gendry had never managed to get Theon Greyjoy or Robb Stark to warm up towards him. Not even a little. Young Lord Stark had logically felt himself forced to entertain him and his companions according their degree. He had organised a hunt for them and the northern noblemen three days after the feast. Mistaking him once again him for his begetter. Gendry had never found joy in hunting down and killing defenseless animals as his sire did. Hence he had rather seized the opportunity to inform himself first-hand about the current situation in the North, discussing politics, economics, infrastructure and other matters with the young nobles present then. He might be a lovesick fool, but no ignorant when it came to his true duties. However, the disapproving look that Robb Stark sported over watching him with his vassals’ sons, made clear, he suspected he only did it to impress him, to win Arya’s hand. And even after most of the other nobles returned to their seats and ancestral homes, Robb Stark still had a hard time to accept that Gendry actually cared about their people, and that the winter after this long summer actually worried him; and Greyjoy always backed his friend in his wariness of Gendry.

But at least the younger Stark brothers eventually began to warm up to him somewhat. Bran Stark had evidently a calmer and more diplomatic personality than his older brother. He soon treated Gendry rather politely, and clearly felt less threatened by him. However the biggest surprise was the youngest Stark. The day after Mikken had permitted Gendry to use one of his forges to finish Arya’s armour, Rickon had suddenly stood in the smithy. “What are you doing?” he had demanded gruffly.
“Making armour, obviously.” Gendry teased, once more astonished how much the young lordling reminded him of his sibling.
“Why?” the boy hissed.
“Because your sister asked me to.”
“This is for Arya?” Rickon frowned disbelieving.
“Aye, my lord.” Gendry confirmed amused, which had the boy furrow his brows even more, as he turned wordlessly on his heels to leave the castle smithy again.

Only a couple of days later he showed up again then. “Could you make one for me, too?” he burst out behind Gendry’s back.
“Well, um, Mikken’s your smith,” Gendry turned around somewhat abashed, “Don’t you think you should task him with your commission, my lord?”
“He’s Arya’s smith too!” the little lord snapped, “Yet, you’re making armour for her…”
“Aye, because it was back in King’s Landing when she asked me,” Gendry explained, “Master Mikken is just so kind to let me finish it here. You see, I want it to be my nameday gift for her.” At which Rickon Stark once again stomped wordlessly out of the door.

“Listen!” the lad returned two days later to the forge, “I asked Mikken to make me one, but he said if I want one like that, I’d have to ask you. So, will you make me one now?”
“I’d like to, my lord,” Gendry countered reluctantly, “It doesn’t feel right though, to thank Master Mikken for his kindness by stealing work from him and his men.”
“It’s not stealing, when Mikken said I ought to ask you!” the youngest Stark huffed and rolled his eyes, exactly like her.
“I don’t know, my lord, I’d hate to insult a good man like Mikken.” Gendry refused the lad heavy-heartedly, as he really wanted her brothers to like him.
“Arya was right, you’re stupid!” Rickon snapped and left again. Yet, the boy kept returning to the forge every once and a while still, to chew on his lower lip as he watched how his sister’s armour assumed shape. “You know, I shan’t tell her you’re making this, since it’s a nameday gift.” the lad even told him eventually, which made it all the harder for Gendry to not promise the little lord a suit of armour too.

And that night, three sennights afore her nameday, when Gendry had nearly given up hope to ever appease her, Arya suddenly returned… from wherever she had been. Although Gendry only noticed so the following morning, when he opened his bedroom window to let Balerion out, to find a bodkin-point and small scroll of parchment in its socket. That damn girl! Gendry chuckled with utter relief, ere unrolled it to read, “Leave. There is nothing here for you.” For a moment he saw his last hopes crushed for good, but then he looked closer at the arrowhead and realised, That’s not the one she made with him! It was slightly crooked too, clearly made by someone untrained at smithing. Someone who couldn’t tell the difference of steel texture. Which just had to mean, she still had the initial one, because it still meant something to her…

Gendry was dressed within an instance and dashed to the Great Hall, where the Winterfell folks just commenced breaking their fast. Seeing Theon Greyjoy and the three Stark brothers at the dais there, he strode towards it and slammed the parchment angrily onto their high table, “Found this on my window sill just a moment ago.” Robb Stark glanced at the note and clenched his fist reflexively.
“Apologies, Your Grace.” the young lord displayed a false smile then once more, “Northerners can be quite, well, wary of foreigners. And apparently someone thinks you shouldn’t extend your stay here much longer…” Yeah, you evidently.
“Oh, I know damn well who that someone was, my lord.” Gendry scoffed, “It’s your sister’s handwriting.”
“And how’d you know that from mere seven words, Your Grace?” Robb Stark almost snarled.
“Why don’t you ask her?” Gendry challenged.
“Anyone could’ve left that on your sill, Your Grace.” Theon Greyjoy scoffed dismissively.
Before Bran blurted, “I did it! I forged Arya’s handwriting and planted it there… so she can come home.” Unbelievable…

“Uh, and what else did you leave for me on the sill, my lord?” Gendry turned to the youth, puzzling him. He shot an insecure side-glance at his older brother. So, Gendry pulled out the bodkin-point and shoved it right next to the note, to not torture the lad any longer. “She left this as well. Made it herself at Mikken’s forge I daresay.” That had the two older Stark brothers exchange a questioning glance. “But it’s not the one she wants me to believe it is,” Gendry went on, “the one she made in King’s Landing, with me.”
“And your grace can tell the difference how?” Theon Greyjoy inquired only halfway mocking now.
“This one’s steel is cheaper—”

“Are you suggesting, Mikken’s work is rubbish?” Bran snapped defensively, glaring at him now.
“No, my lords,” Gendry appeased, “Master Mikken is undoubtedly one of the best blacksmiths in the Seven Kingdoms. I’m just saying he gave your sister cheaper steel to make this one, than I had done back in King’s Landing.”
“And why should we care which arrowhead she leaves on your sill to threaten you?” Robb Stark snarled, finally no longer denying it was her.
“Because it was no threat, my lord.” Gendry countered calmly, “She merely hoped to fool me into thinking, she would no longer care about me. And seeing as she finally did return from her ominous venture beyond the Wall, I should very much like to discuss the matter with her in person now.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Your Grace, isn’t this obvious by now?” young Lord Stark growled and nodded at her message.
“And yet a part of her evidently does want to talk to me,” Gendry disagreed, nodding at the parchment as well. “Or why else sneak to my window in the dead of night? Twice now?”

But still, Robb Stark refused to let him see her. Arya were done with him and the south and would never return there, least of all to marry him, the northerner declared. At which, Gendry stormed furiously from the Great Hall, ere he’d do something he’d come to regret. He retreated to the forge for the rest of the day, to finally get her armour finished, and to not have to see her fucking mad brother anymore… or Greyjoy and his over-confident smirks.

But naturally at nightfall in his chamber, he decided to leave her a reply on the sill, as his gut instinct told him, she would come to his window again for exactly that. True, he had vowed to Ned Stark to keep his courtship within the appropriate bounds now. But how else was he supposed to do it, woo her, like this? When her damn brother and even she herself constantly told him, he wouldn’t get to see her. They left him no choice! So, Gendry wrote, “You got better. Your septa must be proud of her little blacksmith lady.” and planted it underneath a parchment weight.

And indeed the next morning he found her reply, though not the sort he had hoped for. She had merely scrunched up his note and had buried it underneath the small bronze weight. Gods, why did she have to make literally everything so fucking complicated? Gendry wanted to scream out in frustration and spent another day at the forge, ere he left her once more a message, “What is your damn problem? Why can we not talk? We could do it right here. You remain in the tree, and I in the room. No one would have to know.” Least of all your idiot brother.
And to that she actually replied, “My damn problem? What the heck is yours?”
“That I love you.” Gendry wrote for a reply, but naturally to that she hadn’t responded anymore. Fuck.

Gendry had thought, that was the last of it. That she would avoid him again, even in writing. However, two nights later, he suddenly felt cold steel against his skin. His eyes flew open in panic thereupon, only to find Arya standing over him and holding Needle at his throat. “What the fuck?” he snapped.
“Yeah, what the fuck, indeed…” she parroted him, “Just what the fuck do you want here?”
“What I want is pretty clear by now, don’t you think?” Gendry huffed, getting mad at her for still playing dumb, “The question is rather what do you want, Arya.”
“Not to be some stupid queen.” she spat dismissively.
“As you keep saying…” Gendry scoffed, glaring back at her, “But what about the things you don’t say? I want to hear them.”

For a blink of an eye, he thought she might give in, as she studied him quietly, but then her expression went blank. “Well, in that case, I can’t help you,” her voice was as cold as ice when she removed the blade from his throat and turned to the window.
”No!” Gendry speedily grabbed her wrist, “We’re not done here.”
“Oh, but we are, Your Grace,” she snarled, and Needle was in her other hand before he knew. Damn, was she fast! So, he yanked at her wrist and flung his other arm around her to overbear her, resulting in them both toppling over to the floor.
“Stop playing games with me!” Gendry furiously ripped the sword from her hand, notwithstanding he slightly cut himself at it.

“Get off of me, you bloody oaf!” Arya raged. “Or do you want me cry bloody murder, so my brother’s men barge in here, finding you atop of me?” she spat hateful.
“Aye, do that, go ahead,” he growled into her ear, “Make me a captive here, and your kindreds at the Red Keep in return… all because you’re too afeared to admit that you love me—” Gendry challenged fuming.
“Um, I’ve got news for you, Your Grace, I don’t.” she snorted mocking.
“Then you could’ve just told me! Back in King's Landing, or here in the safe surroundings of an audience with your brothers,” he shot back annoyed. “But you didn’t, and we both know why… You’re afraid they might see what I see, that you love me as much as I love you.”
“So, you came all the way to Winterfell, only to hear me say three stupid words?” Arya scoffed at him.
“Aye, that’s precisely why I’m here!” Gendry spat frustrated, “For you to finally admit three damn stupid words…”

“But hearing them won’t change anything,” she huffed after a short pause.
“It changes everything, Arya!” her stubbornness drove him mad.
“No, it doesn’t! You said it once yourself, you want a woman who loves all about you… and I do not.” she claimed angrily.
“Liar!” Gendry could barely restrain himself from yelling at her now.
“I’m not,” she insisted stubbornly.
“Damn it, Arya, what are you so afraid of? All I want is a chance… I’m not talking about a betrothal or marriage—” he snapped.
“But eventually!” she hissed.
“Yeah, in a few years, and would that be so bad? To be with me? At my side?” he demanded.
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to, you stupid idiot, that’s why!”

He had enough! He was done. With her, and her damn brothers. With Winterfell and the whole damn North… everything! Gendry let go of her and got up, hitting the cold stone wall closest to him in his frustration. Yet, over that, he nearly hadn’t heard it, her quiet, “I love the blacksmith. Not the prince.” What? Gendry whirled around, utterly stunned that she actually admitted it. He stared at her, while she grabbed Needle and stepped to the window, her shoulders drooped now in defeat.
“But I am that man! The blacksmith…” Gendry tried to stop her, now completely at the end of his wits.
“No,” she looked up at him, close to tears and sounded absolutely heartbroken. “You are the man that soon is to be king. And when you are, the blacksmith is gone… and you shall need a queen, and that’s not me.”
“But I love you!” he beseeched her, cupping her face.
Only she pulled his hand away and whispered, “I know.” She pulled herself up onto the sill and was out of the window, before he regained enough of his wits to stop her, leaving him to watch her climb swiftly down the tree. And without another glance back, she disappeared into the darkness of the godswood, and from his life.

Chapter Text

Arya returned to Castle Cerwyn that night, even though she hated it there – and every moment she spent there made her despise it even more. Medger Cerwyn seemed to deem her too stupid to see what he was up to. But she understood perfectly well why he had so generously offered to hide her from her royal suitor. Far too well. If King’s Landing had taught her one thing, then undoubtedly to read more closely between the lines, and in particular when unmarried men were involved. Lord Medger’s son Cley had been the first, but sadly he had not remained the last young nobleman who had sent a raven to express his relief over her return to the North. Of course, none of them had dared to call the spade a spade, since technically she was still betrothed to the future king. But their message had been clear: her refusal to wed a southern prince, had led the northern nobility to believe she would rather marry one of their own.

And a part of her had cursed herself for choosing to stay at Cerwyn therefore. She could have gone to Castle Black, when they had got word that he was on his way north. Robb and Maester Luwin had both agreed it were best she hid there, whilst they could claim she merely visited her kindreds there; and where no northern lord could get ideas of demanding anything — such as her hand or that of one of her brothers — in return for taking the risk of drawing the king’s wrath towards their house. Arya had even been on her way already. She had left within half a day after their father’s raven had come. After all she had sought to visit Jon and Uncle Benjen ever since her return to Winterfell, and had already arranged with Jon that he would take her there after his visit for her nameday. Yet one sudden day, Arya hadn’t been able to allow her steed to take another step further north, regardless how much she longed to see Jon again. Without warning, or giving the men of her escort any explanation, she had turned her mount around and had ridden south again. Originally, just to see him for one last time. Just from afar. As a sort of goodbye, since she hadn’t had the chance when she had left King’s Landing.

But unfortunately all that had been out of the window, as soon as she had laid eyes on him. Stalking him one night on the road had somehow led to another day and night doing so, and another after that. Until eventually she had accepted Lord Medger’s prompt offer to accommodate her at Cerwyn for the time of the crown prince’s visit. Just so Robb wouldn’t need to fret himself out of his mind, whether or not Gendry sought to secretly seduce or even abduct her. Or whatever else nonsense his overprotective brain had thought might transpire, if she had remained at Winterfell.

Arya had ultimately snuck back home notwithstanding, when she had no longer been able to put up with Cley Cerwyn dancing attendance to her, and his father’s endless praises of his offspring’s alleged many advantages; especially after Robb had made clear to them, the ultimate decision about her hand was down to Arya herself. So, she had secretly moved into the First Keep, into her old wooden play fortress on the third storey there, where Balerion had kept the mice and rats at bay since she had freed him from the Guest House.

Yet, the longer she had hid there, the more it had pissed her off. She had got mad at herself for sticking around instead of going to Jon, mad at the Cerwyns for taking advantage of the entire situation, mad at Robb for acting ridiculously like a mother bear, and mad at Gendry for staying on and on in Winterfell… as if it were forever! Worse even, not only had he managed to talk Mikken into renting him one of the forges in her absence, the old blacksmith and the other men from the smithy had accepted him in their midst within mere days. That had fuelled her anger like nothing else.

It had taken her nigh two fortnights to settle back in at Winterfell after her return from south. Particularly the first days had been astonishingly awkward. Arya had felt like a stranger in her own home, realising rather painfully, she had changed. Yet Winterfell had not, at least not significantly. She had tried everything to get rid of that feeling. She had resumed the exact same daily routines she had had before she had been forced to leave. The mornings she spent in the training yard with the men, sparring with them, and to instruct especially the slimmer and smaller lads together with Syrio Forel, how they could outwit stronger opponents. Afterwards she and her steed mostly raced Nymeria over the hills and vast meadows into the Wolfswood, to spend the afternoons in the peace and quiet there. Before she met with Mycah ahead of supper, whenever his father didn’t need him at the butchery then. But she hadn’t been able to chase the Winterfell cats anymore without being reminded of Balerion, which inevitably had always caused her to muse about him again then. And she couldn’t go riding with her brothers and Theon anymore, without missing her southern friends and even Sansa – and of course him again.

However, the castle forge had been the worst. It had once meant a safe haven for her. Yet throughout the whole first sennight after her return, Arya hadn’t been able to set a foot over the smithy threshold, albeit she had longed to do so, desperately even. But merely hearing the sounds of steel being hammered had made her want to run, as far away from the steaming heat and so familiar scents as possible.

And when she eventually had forced herself to see Mikken there, it had been awful. The moment she had passed through that invisible wall, which separated the cool air in the courtyard from the heat of the blacksmith’s shop, her mind had instantly conjured a picture of him – his bare back in Mott’s shop. It had forced her to turn on her heel and lean against the brick wall outside, squinting her eyes shut to keep her tears from spilling. And once she lastly had managed to re-enter, Mikken had to do all the talking that first day. Arya had just sat on the old workbench in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest, watching the old man and the other smiths work; to try erase him from her memory.

But every night abed, Arya had dozed off to sleep with her fingers enclosed around her bodkin-point again. Even after she had lastly persuaded Mikken to let her make new ones. She had spent two entire steel bars on arrowheads in the end, and most of them turned out better than the one she had made with him. Yet, still she hadn’t treasured any of them as much as her initial one. And when the old smith had asked her, “Who taught you to make those, little lady?” she hadn’t been able to say his name.
“Just some armourer I knew in King’s Landing,” she had claimed with her voice breaking, as she had tried to convince herself that Mikken were the only blacksmith she would ever need.

And yet there he was now! With Mikken, befriending her friends and usurping her smithy. After she just had reclaimed it less than two moon’s turns ago. Arya had been spitting mad at him for taking over her entire home, as if it were all his!

But also because her nameday drew nearer and nearer, and thus Jon’s visit, and yet he still had made no move to leave again. Arya had needed him gone afore Jon arrived. Not only, because she had grown tired of hiding in her own home, and hadn’t wanted to still do so when her favourite sibling arrived. She wanted to be there for Jon, every moment of his stay. She just needed him gone. Now! Out of fear, if he stayed one, she would run right back to Winterfell again, instead of staying the moon’s turn at Castle Black as she had promised then. But mostly Arya feared, Jon would see right through her, see what Robb apparently still failed to see. How pathetic she had become… because of a man! She who always had proclaimed, she would never fall in love like stupid Sansa and stupid Jeyne. Well, look at you now! Stupider than both of them together…

Thus, when three sennights ahead of her nameday, Gendry still hadn’t seemed like he intended to leave anytime soon, she had tried to give him a push into the right direction. Alas her lousy attempt to get rid of him had naturally blown right up into her face. Not only had he seen straight through her little bluff, because she stupidly still couldn’t let go of that bloody arrowhead, but it had also seemed to fuel his hopes again. Even from afar, Arya had been able to tell how his face had lit up the day after, how his eyes had scanned the keep again to get a glimpse of her. And of course he had taken her message as an invitation to leave her notes from then on, which had lured her from her makeshift bed in the First Keep night after night since, just as he had done in King’s Landing. To put her right back to square one! Until she had no longer been able bear it, and had stupidly snuck into his chamber…

And so Arya returned to Cerwyn that night, regardless how much she despised it there. Just for the simple reason that it was half a day’s ride away, and racing Nymeria had always helped to clear her head. And she craved desperately to clear him from her mind that night. But of course, it only lasted until she was abed, where she found herself angrily beating at the mattress then. Why did he have to come? She had lastly began to feel better, and for what? Just so he could ruin all her efforts again? So she would feel worse than afore? So she would feel as if she had made the worst mistake in her life? Even though she knew she hadn’t. She couldn’t have done it, become his stupid queen… not even for him. She’d die if she’d do it. Slowly, bit by bit. He probably wouldn’t even notice at first, but she would. She would feel herself dying, wasting away in her own flesh, like on that first night in the Red Keep. Only it wouldn’t stop. It would go on and on, turning her into a living breathing corpse. An empty shell. A ghost of her former self, right next to him. He could just as well lock her up in one of the black cells under his damn Red Keep… the outcome were the same. And yet, there she was now, quietly crying herself to sleep at Castle Cerwyn.

Arya felt so miserable after that night, she didn’t return to Winterfell anymore. She just couldn’t. Not as long as he was there. Instead, she spent her days alone with her stallion and Nymeria in the Wolfswood. She even refused to meet with her brothers and their wolves, and only allowed Lady to find them there. For Sansa knew, unlike their brothers. She didn’t want them to know. She just wanted to forget him… or at least to get her act together again, pretending she wouldn’t care about him, ere she faced her brothers and Theon again.

However, three days later, Cley headed her off at nightfall in the Cerwyn courtyard then, to hand her a raven scroll from Robb. Only reading it, didn’t provide the relief she had hoped for, instead it sparked a numbing pang in her chest. He left… At that realisation, all colour drained from her face. He was gone. She stumbled thunderstruck backwards to Nymeria and Lady, and grabbed her steed’s reins. “Thank you, my lord—for your hospitality and all,” she murmured absently, “But I need to go home now. Bye.” She mounted up and called for the gate to be opened, before Cley could even ask what had happened.

It was about midnight, when she handed her steed wordlessly to the guards at the South Gate and ran across the courtyard to the Guest House, to see for herself. Arya barged through the door into his quarters, finding the rooms behind all dark and empty. The furniture was already covered with sheets again and the window shutters were closed once more, as though he’d never been here. The sight of it had her struggling for breath, until she had yanked the shutters and windows open and ripped the sheets off again. He was gone. And all Arya could do thereupon, was slump down onto the bedroom floor in defeat, as something inside of her shattered into a thousand pieces. He was gone. For good. Forever.

She couldn’t tell for how long she had sat there on the floor, staring into space. But her tears had already dried on her cheeks, when Balerion lastly found her there, rousing her from her dead still state with his head-butts and purring. “You’re still here?” she whispered incredulous and pulled the old tom into a tight hug, desperate for some comfort. Yet, only after the animal had fallen asleep on her lap, she noticed the trunk in the corner by the window, That hadn’t been there before. She dashed towards it, not caring she woke Balerion rudely when she lifted him off her lap at it.

It was his! She knew even before she turned the key in the lock and opened it, to find a layer of black velvet with a small jewellery box atop of it. She snatched the tiny casket swiftly, knowing precisely what was inside. He had kept it, all this time. And once again the necklace came with a small note, “It is yours. Wear it. Both. Wear both.” Arya felt new hot tears running down her cheeks, as her left hand enclosed around the wolf’s head. The while her right hand shakily removed the velvet, revealing her suit of armour, which caused her whole body to tremble. She pulled out one piece after another and laid them carefully onto the bed covers, her fingers tracing over his artwork in between her sobs.

“That stupid, stupid bull,” she cursed in her despair. How could he do this to her? How could she ever wear this? Without breaking her heart over and over again? He could’ve just as well ripped her heart out of her chest… She pushed everything furiously from the bed and slammed her fists down onto the bedcover, trying to beat away her frustration and heartache; only to search frantically for the wolf pendant in between the clanking armour parts a moment later. And when she finally retrieved it under one of the gauntlets, she clutched it fiercely to her heart and crawled into the bed, pulling the bedcovers up over her head, shutting the world out.

Until dawn at least, when reason finally regained the upper hand again, making her aware that she didn’t want anyone to find her there,like this… She didn’t want anyone to know, a stupid southern princeling had turned her into an even bigger fool than Sansa and Jeyne ever were. So, she packed everything back into the chest and locked it up. Everything besides the necklace, which she put on again, yet kept it hidden underneath her shirt’s neckline. Nobody needed to know, she told herself as she cast the sheets over the furniture, and closed the windows and shutters again, all but the ones in the bedroom. Before she climbed out there onto the oak branch outside, closing the window and its shutters behind herself; so she could pretend she had just been early to the godswood that day. To thank the goods that now she could finally move back into her own chamber, to get on with her life. Her life as she had always wanted it to be. Free and adventurous. Full of possibilities… her life without him.

It sucked. He was gone, yet someway he was still there. Everywhere, haunting her. And not only in her dreams. Her mind began playing tricks on her, conjuring him all over Winterfell. Be it a tall silhouette slipping into some doorframe, who urged her to run after them to see if it was him. A distant guffaw, that had her whirl around because it sounded somewhat like him. Or even just a mop of black hair emerging from a hooded cloak, causing her to hold her breath. He appeared to be everywhere now, following her around like an invisible shadow, who caused her heart to do a hopeful flip each time it happened – only to crush it again a moment later. He seemed to have turned into a vengeful spirit, set on punishing and torturing her for the rest of her life. He was everywhere, and yet nowhere. He kept vanishing into thin air, running through her fingers like water. Over and over again.

Except at the castle forge. At first, Arya had feared it would be like before, that him visiting and staying for so long would have somehow compromised Winterfell and its people for her. That she would avoid and dread anyone and everything, she felt was somehow connected to him now. But strangely quite the opposite was the case, she felt constantly drawn to those people and places. And most of all to the Winterfell smithy. The one place, where he was almost tangible, where no false illusions of him existed, just true and vivid and beautiful memories. And albeit that meant, her tears were never far from welling up, she still could scarcely cross the southern courtyard now without slipping into the castle forge for a while. To sit on the old workbench there, listening to the sound of steel being hammered, to pretend it were him that made the steell sing. And somehow Mikken seemed to understand, “It’ll get easier, little lady. Eventually, I promise,” he told her one day, catching her completely off-guard. But thankfully that remained the only time, he or anyone else addressed the elephant in the room directly.

If only it wasn’t for her wild and not so little anymore pain-in-the-neck brother kept pestering her about the armour. He pelted her daily, if she wouldn’t want take a look at her gift at the Guest House. Even after she lastly told him, she already knew what it was, and she wouldn’t want to wear it anyway. Because she couldn’t, and feared she never would.

Rickon naturally didn’t get that, though. How could he? At just eleven. Thus, unsurprisingly she found him trying to pick the lock on the chest one morning. And he wasn’t even sorry, when she confronted him there. He told her boldly, if she wouldn’t want it, she could well give it to him; after all he would soon be tall enough and anything else were a waste of good steel. Unbelievable. Arya knew of course, her sibling had a point there. He had wasted his craftsmanship on her. But she couldn’t bear to look at the armour, not even on someone else. And so, she told Rickon rather gruffly to stay away from the trunk, unless he would wish its content to be reforged into chamber pots. “How about that for wasting good steel, smart-arse?” Arya threatened all big sister-like. “And now off with you! Syrio and Rodrik are waiting.” She manoeuvered him out of the guest quarters, and locked the door up behind them – just in case. Before she went to follow him to the training yard.

Though, hearing the dim hammering sounds from the castle smithy then, quickly changed her mind. Instead of joining the sparring right away, she decided to take a slight detour to Mikken first. Just for a while, she told herself, to calm down, before she would kick Rickon’s arse for playing the squeaky wheel since over a sennight now. She played absently with her necklace through the fabric of her shirt, as she headed into the other direction across the yard, where she dropped nigh dead, when she entered the smithy. Arya froze in her track in the doorframe, thunderstruck, and her heart skipped a beat or two… or more. Seven hells… him! She would recognise that black mop anywhere. No, this can’t be… she told herself and blinked. But it was still him, when she opened her eyes again, as well as after the next blink and the one after that. Her heart pounded at a dizzying rate and her mind went blank, how was this even possible?

She just stood there and stared at him in disbelief, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Until one of the journeymen noticed her and greeted, “M’lady.” bringing quickly everyone else’s attention to her, but her eyes remained fixed on him. She watched him turn around – not startled or surprised as he had done in Mott’s shop – calmly now. This couldn’t be true, she surely would wake up any moment now, Arya wanted to pinch herself. But his smile beamed with hope when his glance met hers.
“M’lady.” he bowed to her, causing her tears to spill and her anger to boil over.
“You fucking prick!” she charged at him, her fists colliding with his chest, “What the fuck, are you doing here again?” she yelled at him in between hitting and shoving him. But he only laughed at the blows and caught her in his arms to force her to stop.
“I recall m’lady saying she wanted a blacksmith,” he claimed, grinning like a fool now, “So, here I am.”
“I know what I said, you bull-headed idiot!” she snarled at him and kicked him in the shin, threatening, “Next time it’s my knee again, you damn arsehole…”
“Ouch!” he hissed in pain, letting go of her to rub his leg. But then he teased, “Is this how you treat your craftsmen in Winterfell? I think I’ll rather take up employment elsewhere then—”
“Don’t you dare!” she snapped and shoved him again.
“I’d never—” he assured grinning, but couldn’t stop taunting her, “Well, unless of course, payment were better otherwhere! You know, I’ve to earn my livelihood now, and there’s so much to pay for… accommodation, clothing, food—” He drove her nuts.
“Shut up, you stupid bull!” she shoved him again.
Yet, he only laughed, “I mean, sure, I could do that, but—” earning himself another shove.
“But? I said, shut up!” she snarled, fuming.
“As m’lady commands,” he grinned roguishly and bowed to her again, mockingly this time. Arya rolled her eyes, and attempted to shove him right again, “Don’t call me—”
But he cut her short with a kiss, getting ahead of her. However, this time she not only kissed him back deliberately, she also pulled him closer by his apron’s neck loop. Which made him break away, leaning his forehead against hers. “No more knee slamming and silly games now. Just you and I, together, hm?” Though, instead of an answer all he got was another kiss. One so fierce, it made him chuckle midway through and lift her up in his arms.

Until of a sudden, they heard her name. “Arya!” Robb roared outraged, making them both break away at once. Fuck. Her brother stepped into the castle smithy with his fists clenched, glaring at Gendry. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, using his lord voice.
“Um… we have a new blacksmith?” Arya offered embarrassed, feeling her face flush bright red, once Gendry set her feet back onto the ground. He let not go of her though, despite that Robb was fuming.
“Is that so?” her brother challenged.
“Indeed, my lord.” Gendry confirmed, trying to sound earnest, yet failed to hide his grin.
“And how come I do not know of this?” Robb demanded angrily, trying to stare him down.
“Because it’s none of your damn business, my lord,” Arya snapped at her oldest sibling, “he’s mine—”
“What?” Robb exclaimed livid and thunderstruck at the same, making her realise, he had got it all wrong.
“I meant, he is my smith…” she corrected, feeling her face turn an even darker shade of red, as she turned back to Gendry.
But he only smiled widely at her, albeit technically it was Robb he addressed then, “No, that’s about right, my lord. I am hers, if she’ll have me…” he stated, embarrassing her even more.
“Oh, shut it,” Arya shoved him again, causing them both to stumble against the anvil behind him.
“Again?” Gendry teased tongue-in-cheek, “M’lady, I don’t think your lord brother likes me doing that—”
“Quite right.” Robb snarled, still scowling at him. But Arya was glaring no better now, right back at her idiot brother.
“I don’t care,” she told him and pulled Gendry’s face into another kiss, to remind both men, who was truly in charge of her here. Only then Rickon pushed past Robb, interrupting them.
“Me neither,” he growled, ”as long as I’m getting my armour now.”